White Collar: An unofficial novel - part 1
by AltanKatt
Summary: This is the tv show White Collar as a novel. It is written from the point of view of Neal Caffrey and Peter Burke. There are also new scenes filling the gaps in the story. I wanted to capture the spirit of White Collar and the friendship between Peter and Neal. Part one tells the story from Peter's and Neal's first meeting to the end of episode one.
1. Intro

**Intro**

Neal Caffrey worked fast to get clean-shaven. With a six-week beard, it was not the easiest thing to do. But he had scissors, a simple razor and a piece of a broken mirror. In a maximum security prison, it took skill and luck to have as much. The inmates were not supposed to deal with any sharp objects. Even in the workshop with its machines, there were no portable things you could cut someone with.

He washed the soap off his face with water from the tank of the toilet and felt the smooth skin of his chin. Perfect. He combed back his unruly hair with wet hands. It would stay slick long enough.

From the toilet tank, he brought out several packages in plastic. Then he disposed of the razor tools and his orange prison jumpsuit in there. He pulled on the black uniform of a prison guard, tied the boots.

With a deep breath, he left the staff's bathroom and walked down the corridor. He passed through the workshop with confidence. A few faces on top of orange clothing glanced at him. Either they recognized him or wondered where his utility belt was. The belt was the only thing faltering in his otherwise perfect black outfit of a correctional officer.

No inmate would ever snitch on someone escaping. It was the other guards that could cause a problem. The prison was big enough to host too many guards for a new face to be something odd. He also kept his route out of where he usually moved, to stay away from those who knew him well. They had seen him without a beard for three and a half year and would spot him in an instant.

He passed a row of cells with prisoners and guards walking in the other direction. Not ideal, but at least he could keep his own pace. Huge confidence was one of his biggest assets in these situations.

Neal passed the door to a staff area. At the end of the corridor was a barred door which would be his final obstacle on his way out. The magnet strip of his card met the reader. The door buzzed. Neal pushed it open. Only to face one of the guards he met regularly in the shop. He kept his face composed and stayed cool.

The man probably recognized him, but could not place from where. A second and then the guard smiled and let him pass.

Neal Caffrey, an inmate of a maximum security facility, pushed the front door open and left the prison.


	2. Seven years earlier

**Seven years earlier**

Special Agent Peter Burke, senior member of the FBI's White Collar unit in New York, stepped out of the meeting room with the bank manager, out in the public bank lobby.

"If anyone tries to cash these bonds, call me immediately. Detain him if possible."

The bank manager nodded, stressed, eager to end the meeting.

"Absolutely."

"Good."

She walked away with a nod. Peter hoped it was to inform the employees, but he could do nothing more about it. It was time to move on to the next bank.

"Excuse me." Peter turned and faced a young, smiling man. "I couldn't help but overhear. Are you with the FBI?"

Peter sighed and wished the meeting had not ended in the lobby. He did not want to be the cause of worry and loss of customers for the bank. FBI tended to do just that.

"Special Agent Peter Burke."

"Just took some money out of the bank. Heard you talking about counterfeiting."

"Your money is safe. I'm looking for counterfeit bonds," Peter returned, ending the conversation. Or so he thought.

"I've some bonds at home. How would I know if they're not real?"

The man could not be past twenty-five and did not appear to be upper-class. Not the guy who he would think of as someone who would dare to lock up savings in bonds for a couple of years.

"I'm sure they are fine." So many people became worried without a cause. Counterfeit bonds did not turn up in people's homes. They went from the forger directly to the bank.

"Thanks again for all the hard work you're doing, Agent Burke. For you." The kid handed him a green lollipop with a wide, genuine smile. He took it, baffled. "Have a good day." Peter watched the guy walk out of the bank. A lollipop?

The bank manager rushed up to him.

"Excuse me, Agent Burke."

"Yes?"

"A man was here during our meeting and cashed in a few bonds."

Peter felt his pulse rise.

"Show them to me."

The bank manager took him behind the counter and handed him the bonds. Peter knew what to look for. Still, it was hard to be sure. But there it was!

"These are forged. I need to see the security footage right away." He had missed 'James Bonds' by minutes! The bank manager took him to the surveillance room.

"Special Agent Peter Burke." He showed his badge for the guards. "I need to see the footage for the last twenty minutes. From all the cameras." The guards inside the room complied without questions. It did not take long until he saw a young man handing the bonds to a cashier. The same man who had talked to him!

Through another camera he got it confirmed. The kid left the counter and paused when he saw him and the bank manager exit. It seemed as if he deliberately stopped to listen. Then he had walked straight up to the enemy with the friendliest smile in the world offering him the lollipop the cashier had given him just before.

Though frustrated, Peter could not help grinning. Their suspect had a sense of humor, and he could not see a trace of violence in the young man. Bold and cocky, sure, but his genuine friendliness and the lollipop spoke of someone who saw obstacles as a challenge to win by brains, not by threats and guns.

Peter spun the lollipop between his fingers. The kid wanted to play a game with him? Then he had no idea who he was dealing with. Peter had dealt with criminals for over fifteen years. He laughed and put the lollipop in his pocket. 'James Bonds' had just made the mistake of showing his face. It would not take long until the game was over.

* * *

"He's not a nanny goat in a petting zoo. He's a fed!" Neal's partner in crime was not happy when he heard of Neal's conversation with the agent. "Within minutes, he could've set up a five-block perimeter. Hundreds of trench-coated G-men." Mozzie also had a habit over overstate things.

"It was worth it," Neal returned. "We now know two things. We gotta move off bonds. And his name is Peter Burke." He grinned towards a still annoyed Mozzie. "Know thine enemy, right?"

"Fine."

It was little Mozzie could argue about that. He was the one who had taught Neal to always be a step ahead and learn everything that could be found on your target. Or in this case the fed chasing them. And that was exactly what Neal would do.

A few days later when Neal was shopping some groceries he saw a stand with birthday cards. He smiled and picked one. Agent Burke, he had learned, was one of the most respected case agents at the FBI's White Collar unit. Tomorrow was also his birthday.

Back in his home he picked a pen and hesitated. What should he write? Neal wanted Agent Burke to know who sent the card and still not give away too much. He wrote 'Happy Birthday' and instead of a name or a signature he draw a bond seal. He smiled and figured he had better not show this to Mozzie. Then he cleaned the card from fingerprints, put on gloves and put it in an envelope, and used tap water for the glue. There would be nothing on this card that could be traced to him or his whereabouts.

* * *

Peter took the lollipop from the drawer of his desk and put it in the pocket of his suit. Today they would catch 'James Bonds'. Another cocky and talented criminal who still was not clever enough to know when to stop. Still, it had taken them a year to get this far.

He drove to the art gallery. In there was a Monet waiting in a store room to be put on display. An easy target. If 'James Bonds' had done what they suspected him of, a Monet was exactly the kind of art he would love to steal. Peter stepped into the van.

"Everything ready?" he asked. Clinton Jones nodded.

"Yes, sir, it is."

He liked Jones. Solid and loyal. And he had understood why Peter had kept the lollipop. Others had asked why he kept it, thought of it as embarrassing to be fooled like that.

"Unfinished business. I get it," was all Jones had said and Peter had arranged for his new colleague's transfer to the White Collar division the next day. Jones had military background and did not question orders. Peter had been uncomfortable with that at first, since he favored input. But Jones was smart and stated his opinion where he thought it proper. He did not question Peter much because he trusted his boss' judgment and that was okay with Peter.

They had had the gallery bugged and equipped with spy cams during the day by agents coming to the gallery as visitors. It was even the FBI who had made sure there was a Monet to find, with an agent under cover working as a seller of the painting.

Jones noted movement on the roof and Peter saw a man get inside. Their spy cams could provide them with closeups and it was 'James Bonds' alright. Peter sent a couple of men to the roof while the rest of them split between the two doors. In the storage they found the painting together with a bottle of fine red wine and six glasses, one for each of them in the team, together with a basket with cheese and crackers to go with it.

"How did he get out?" Jones asked perplexed.

"He can't have," Peter replied and had the whole gallery searched. No one was found. They watched the films from their spy cameras and saw two of their team members enter through the back door and their crook sneak out behind them. He had left the building before Peter and Jones reached the storage where they thought they would catch him.

When the bottle of wine and the glasses had been dusted for fingerprints, in vain, Peter called the other five team members to the conference room where they shared the bottle. A bottle of wine for six was not much but it did not matter. The wine and the cheese were all quality stuff and it was a pity to waste it. Peter found it remarkable. The young criminal could just have pinned a note to the frame of the painting. Instead, he left them something nice. Though it was a show off and 'James Bonds' teasing them, it was so much more than it had to be, in a pleasant way.


	3. Arresting Neal Caffrey

**Arresting Neal Caffrey**

Two years later was Peter Burke still frustrated. It had never taken anyone at any White Collar unit that long to catch an active criminal before. The had added the name of Neal Caffrey to 'James Bonds' photo on that white-board months ago. They knew who he was. But instead of catching him, the number of committed crimes had begun to fill every free spot on the board. To make things worse they still only had solid proof of the bond-forgery that started it all. All this from a kid turning twenty-five. It was impressive but annoying.

It helped to know, everyone on the unit was aware it was not due to any incompetence on Burke's part that Caffrey was still out there. What they had on their hands was one of the best con-men in history. And Peter Burke loved a challenge. That was why the case was his. That was why he could pick his own team members. Agent Burke had the country's highest rate of solved cases.

Peter stared across the conference room at the clogged white-board with Neal Caffrey's photo in the middle. Their con-man had returned to New York once again after a trip abroad. Once again they had seen him on security footage long after he had passed the camera. He was one of few who could have a known face and move without disguise. Why? Because he was confident, charming and did not give an impression which made officials suspicious. Though attractive, he still looked normal, a handsome face passing by, a nice smile to someone needing one, but nothing that made you think of the face on the wanted poster.

"Before returning to New York, Caffrey popped up in Denmark and France" Peter informed his team. "He's not afraid to cross borders."

"He definitely does his homework" Jones noted. "We flagged his aliases at all points of entry. I mean, we get a hit, we throw up roadblocks."

"No, he'll never use the same ID twice. Tell me something I haven't heard." Peter sighed. His eyes fell on his newest team member. Fresh eyes were good. "What about you? Agent…?"

"Berrigan," she filled in.

"You're on the run. How do I catch you?" Peter wanted to know.

"Stakeout my girlfriend?" she replied instantly. And then realized what she had implied and added, as to point out it was all hypothetical: "Caffrey has one, right?"

"We think they split up." Peter felt they were on to something here.

"But we know where she is," Jones pointed out.

"Does she know we're on to her?" Peter inquired. Jones shook his head.

"No. Never had enough on her to bring her in."

"And he hasn't gone anywhere near her." It did not make any sense to Peter. "Hang on. It took us months to catch her and she never stays in the same place for more than a week." If she was not hiding from the law, then… "She's hiding from him. He doesn't know where she is." Peter knew he was grinning all over his face and so did his team.

* * *

Neal was thinking over a map of Burma when Mozzie entered.

"Hey. Rubies in Burma," Neal greeted his friend. "I'm gonna need a bush plane to get…" Something was wrong. It was the troubled Mozzie with his hands deep in his pockets. "Oh, no. Did your pigeon die?"

"No. Estelle's fine. Best homer in the city." He was proud of the bird. Neal understood why. Not many pigeons were used in crimes.

"Then what?"

"I received some news. Some information has surfaced on the street."

"Kate?" Nothing else could give Mozzie that troubled face. He had insisted that Kate stayed away deliberately. Neal could nothing but agree since neither of them could find her. Mozzie, however, thought that no matter reason, it was better to stay away from her and play it safe.

"You have to understand," Moz pointed out. "It comes from a highly unreliable source."

"Where is she?"

"His name's Jimmy the Snitch."

So what? If it was false news then it was false news.

"I need a location," he insisted. If she was hiding from him, he wanted to know why. He wanted to know she was safe. Had to hold her, talk to her.

"Neal, this smells like a trap."

"I don't care. I need to see her."

Mozzie sighed and dug in his pocket, brought out a note. He handed it over.

"It's a storage facility. She'll be there this afternoon."

"All right, thanks." Neal pattered Mozzie on the shoulder as he passed him towards the door.

"Neal…" He turned in the door to his friend. "Be careful." Neal beamed at him. Of course.

* * *

Neal scanned the area inside the storage facility, an empty space with lots of closed doors to storage areas. Except for one. By the sound, someone was inside. He walked there and looked inside. There she was. The only woman in the world for him. Kate, God, how much he had missed her.

"Forging Raphael. You've gotten good." She was not, but she had painted a work of art he had stolen and he imagined it was for a reason. Kate remained with his back to him.

"I heard the real painting was stolen."

Neal felt his heart beat as a love-sick school-boy.

"I hoped it would get your attention." And he wanted her attention now. His world was falling apart without her.

"It did."

"I missed you. I lied to you about a lot of things, Kate, but I never lied about loving you."

"I believe you."

Neal closed his eyes. When he opened them she had turned towards him.

"I love you too," she whispered.

He engulfed her in his arms and kissed her. It was hard to believe this was true. He held her sweet head between his hands, felt her soft skin.

"How did you find me?"

What did it matter? She was here and so was he.

"Mozz heard you were fencing Mauritian penny stamps."

"I quit dealing in stamps…"

Neal saw the confusion in her eyes. If she had not dealt in stamps... It was a trap.

The door in the other end of the room slammed open. He knew what was coming.

"It's okay," he assured her. They were not there for her. He kept holding her face for one more second before he backed away and raised his hands in surrender, still with his eyes on his beloved Kate.

* * *

Four armed men in body armor went first with Agent Jones close behind. Peter entered last. Though Jones had a vest, Peter had not bothered. He felt confident enough about his subject. Neal Caffrey did not carry a gun. What he was not as sure about was if Caffrey would try to run or not. Hence the armed vanguard. After three years, Peter was not about to let him slip through his fingers once again.

He saw Caffrey with his back to him raise his hands just seconds after they burst the door open. They had him!

"FBI! Hands on your head!" Jones yelled aiming his gun at Caffrey. He obeyed.

Peter walked up to the young man who had eluded him for so long. The kid turned and met his eyes.

"Agent Burke."

"Neal Caffrey" Peter smiled in return. "You're under arrest." How he had longed to say those words to this guy.

"I know." It was a humble confirmation. Burke had figured out what Caffrey could not resist and used it and set a trap. Caffrey had taken the bait. It was as if the kid just accepted he had been conned and his defeat.

Caffrey moved his hands from the back of his head and held out his hand towards Peter. The armed men behind him reacted at once. In a second of terror Peter thought they would shoot, but they just sent a warning. Peter had been clear to everyone that Neal Caffrey had no record of violence of any kind. Now his suspect stood smiling with an outstretched hand towards him. Odd.

* * *

Neal beamed towards the agent.

"Thank you." If Burke had been baffled by the gesture it was nothing compared to the skeptical look he got now. Burke probably considered if he was trying to run or con him in any way. Neal decided to solve the riddle for him.

"I never would've found her without you."

There was so much more he wanted to thank Peter Burke for. A good game, being a worthy opponent, making his life interesting, being the one who finally caught him. But this would have to do. It was probably the only thing Burke might believe in and not see as a joke or a way to butter him up.

"It's my pleasure." Peter Burke's hand enclosed his. Neal was not sure if he imagined it or not, but it felt like Burke also thanked him for all the things Neal had not found a way to express. Peter Burke, the man he admired but also had not kept from teasing. Was Neal an enemy in his eyes?

Burke did not let go of the grip of his hand until another agent locked a cuff around the wrist. Neal was too amused thinking of all the measures they had taken to catch him to notice that the agent pulled his arms behind his back and locked the other cuff in place.

"So you guys were all in that municipal van out front." Six grown men, four with body armor. "It's gotta be uncomfortable."

"It doesn't smell too good either" the agent doing the cuffing told him and Neal had to keep himself from laughing. It sounded like this agent was glad the chase was finally over.

As the agent led him away, he turned his head to get a final look at Kate. She had not moved. She returned his glance but seemed unable to send him one of her wonderful smiles. He would have to do anyway.

* * *

Peter saw them leave. He pulled the green lollipop out from his pocket. His victory cigar. It was rare that an arrest gave him so much satisfaction and he wanted to enjoy the moment. Most arrests were of people driven by greed and some of them were violent too. Even if a few of them had been a challenge, they had not been aware of the chase as Caffrey had. For three years they had known each other's existence and Caffrey had in every gesture showed that he enjoyed the game with Peter. Even if it was Peter's job to chased people like Caffrey, he had enjoyed the game as well.

There were three ways the game could end. Their criminal could stop and stay out of sight until safe to show up, flee abroad, or be caught by the FBI. Naturally, Peter preferred the last one. You were not supposed to commit crimes and get away with them. For the society to function the criminals had to get caught and pay their debt.


	4. First names

**First names**

When Neal was taken out of the storage facility and lost sight of Kate, reality became harsher at once. He knew he was under arrest. It was something he had known would happen sooner or later. Now he learned what it meant.

"You have the right to remain silent" the agent holding his arm informed him. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law" and continued with his rights to an attorney and so on. So many times he had heard those lines in other situations than his own.

"Do you understand your rights?" the agent asked. Neal sent the man a beaming smile.

"They were not that hard to grasp."

"Do you understand them? Yes or no." It was not unkind. Just formal.

"Well, yes agent, I do."

They stopped by a black car.

"I'm Agent Jones" the guy holding him said. "And I'm going to do a pat-down on you. Any weapons found will be confiscated and hold against you. Any other items will be examined and returned to you." Agent Jones turned him toward the car. "Lean towards the car, feet apart."

For the first time in his life, Neal experienced what it meant to have his hands cuffed on his back. He stood close enough to the car for him to lean his chest against it without a problem, but he felt the loss of control and balance for the second it took for him to get there. He was entirely in their hands now. He was not even sure if he could stand up straight from where he stood without help.

The agent started from the top with his hair and worked downward. The hands were professional and did not pass any boundaries in any way. They searched for hidden weapons, nothing more.

Agent Burke came into his field of view. He looked like a winner and Neal did not blame him. Peter Burke had won due to Neal's own impulsiveness. Did he have a sucker in his mouth? Neal remembered their first meeting. Had he kept it all these years? Neal could not help smiling.

Agent Jones was finished with his pat-down and took hold of his upper arm and helped him stand up straight. He opened the back door of the car.

"Get in," he said and for a second Neal felt his knees buckle. Involuntary, his eyes went to Agent Burke who was the only thing feeling known and safe in this new situation. The agent did not turn his eyes away. Neal forced a smile to his face to hide his terror. The moment he lifted his foot and placed it in the car he felt Agent Jones' hand on his head as he maneuvered himself inside. Neal's heart had never beaten as fast. All his body wanted to do was to run, while his brain was equally terrified and curious about this new world. He fought to keep the curiosity on top, in control.

* * *

Peter left the storage facility with the lollypop in his mouth, still with a happy grin on his face. Caffrey was leaning against their car, being frisked by Jones. The young man gave Peter a curious look as he approached and Peter returned it. There was no ill-will or hate in Caffrey's expression. He seemed cocky and playful, but most of all he appeared genuinely interested in Peter.

Now when Peter had won the game they played, they finally met again. The first thing Caffrey had done was to shake his hand and thank him for finding his girlfriend, knowing very well Peter had used this knowledge about her whereabouts to set a trap. It was something incredible optimistic about this guy that he liked.

Jones opened the back door of the FBI car and pointed.

"Get in. I'm going to put my hand on your head, so you don't hit it on the door frame."

Before Caffrey got in, Peter saw something in that look that was not as jolly and curious as seconds before. It was fear. Now the criminal he had been chasing had become a real person, a young man in custody, probably handcuffed for the first time in his life. Most people in his position were terrified.

Peter got in on the other side, sitting down beside Caffrey, helping Jones to fasten their suspect's seatbelt at the same time. Caffrey glanced at Peter.

"Is that the sucker I gave you?"

"Yeah, it is," Peter confirmed and took it out of his mouth showing it. Caffrey grinned. He shifted around in his seat, as to find a position that was comfortable.

"Scoot forward and lean back against your shoulders, leave your wrists some space." Caffrey took his advice and became still. "Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Jones pulled off his vest and stepped into the driver's seat. He exchanged a look with Peter to check if all was okay. It was and Jones got the car started. He pulled out in traffic.

"So, what happens now?" Caffrey asked. "Thumb-screws?" It was a joke, but it gave away some of the fear he had glimpsed in the kid's eyes before.

"We're taking you to the FBI headquarters for interrogation. We have some pretty bad coffee. If you haven't confessed after a few cups of that brew, it's not much we can do. Then it'll go to court with whatever we already have on you." He sent Caffrey a reassuring grin and saw his eyes sparkle with humor. Peter also noted his arms were trembling.

"The cuffs too tight?"

"No. Don't worry," Caffrey replied, still smiling. "They only pain my ego."

Facial expression was one thing, and the body's physical reactions something else. This guy was scared. It was easy to believe this was what the law enforcement wanted, but that was not true. The FBI stood for humanity and fair treatment. To deliberately keep a suspect terrified was not considered as such. Even if Peter wanted to get those who broke the law behind bars he did not believe in a system that punished and tortured.

Peter placed his hand on the young man's shoulder. Caffrey swallowed hard and looked away, but he did not dodge the touch.

"Your world has turned upside-down and became a scary, unknown place. You're going to find your footing again" Peter assured Caffrey. He felt the kid's body relax some. He kept his hand on his shoulder.

"You understand your rights?" Peter wanted to know. "You can refuse to be questioned without a lawyer present. If you ask for a lawyer, there will be no questioning after that unless you say so. No threats, no bullying."

Caffrey eyed him. Peter could read nothing but curiosity and respect in those eyes.

"If you want to question me, I'm up for it."

Peter smiled. His suspect was not going to confess. Caffrey wanted to meet the guy who caught him. He still wanted to play games.

"I wouldn't mind talking to you either" Peter returned. They shared a grin.

Caffrey looked out through the window, and after a while, the tremor returned, but not only in his arms but in his legs as well. Peter moved his hand slightly, and squeezed Caffrey's shoulder a bit, as to remind him of its presence. In his experience, it was of no use to ask if a suspect was scared. To ask was the same as to rub it in.

"You just lost all control of our life" Peter explained the reaction. "For a guy like you, used to planning and controlling the variables, it could be as terrifying as getting thrown off a cliff. It's a natural physical reaction. Just ride it out."

The kid drew a few breaths, as long as he could. The tremor lessened.

"I thought you hated me," Caffrey said, as to distract himself but also, Peter thought because it was one of those things that worried him. Peter shook his head.

"Relax. I don't. Do you hate me?" Peter was almost sure he did not, considering the looks and responses he had got, but he figured a criminal should have more reason to hate an FBI agent, than the other way around.

Caffrey shook his head.

"You've never given me a reason to."

If chasing you and sending you to prison is not enough for you to hate me, you can't have many enemies, Peter wanted to say but he preferred to keep talking outside interrogation on a neutral ground.

When the car pulled into the FBI parking garage, Peter unfastened Caffrey's seatbelt and got out. Jones opened Caffrey's door.

"Come on out. Watch your head."

Jones exchanged a look with Peter and then took a position behind the door to let Peter handle their suspect. Jones was good in reading him. Caffrey got his legs outside and maneuvered himself out of the car. He swayed when he stood up, and Peter caught him by the arm. Peter waited a few seconds to let the young man found his bearings.

"You okay?"

Caffrey nodded, and Peter and Jones led him up a short flight of stairs to get to the elevators. He stumbled on the last step, and Peter and Jones prevented him from falling.

"We got you, kiddo," Peter ensured him. "Take it easy."

It was not only as a control measure they held a suspect. It was also a matter of safety for the person in custody. With his hands cuffed on his back, he had no chance to break a fall. They waited until Caffrey had his two feet stable on the ground again until they moved on.

They got inside the elevator, and Jones pressed the button for the 21st floor. Peter guessed the news had spread and though his crew was professionals he also knew they were humans and were curious and would take their chance to peek when they got out. 'James Bonds' was a legend. He did not want any suspect to feel paraded as a trophy.

As the doors opened and they got out Peter steered Caffrey to the right at once, towards the interview rooms. Jones covered their back. They were out of sight in seconds.

Jones left them and Peter took Caffrey into the interview room, rounded the table and pulled out a chair for him. He unlocked the cuffs and put them in his pocket. Caffrey rubbed his wrists.

"Thanks."

Peter sent him a glance.

"Did you think I would keep you cuffed like that?"

"I don't know," Caffrey admitted. "Why not?"

"This could take hours, and you're a non-violent suspect. Besides, this a perfectly secure room. Sit down."

Three of the walls were of glass, including the door in. A room within a room. It gave the feeling that the conversation was private because you could see no one was listening outside the door. Though it was spartan, it had no intention to appear intimidating. Caffrey sat down but Peter saw his eyes inspect the room.

"Don't even think about it," Peter warned him as he sat down on the opposite side of the table. The young man beamed.

"If it's a perfectly secure room, where's the harm in thinking?"

Peter smiled. An intelligent question, as expected.

"Because I'd rather not see 'attempted escape' on your charge sheet" Peter admitted. "You keep this strictly white collar, and you likely get off a lot easier."

He watched for a reaction. Neal nodded.

"Okay. What happens now?"

"I interrogate you if you agree to do so without a lawyer. When we're done you'll be taken to the Federal Detention Center where you'll stay until your trial. Unless you get bail, but I don't think you will, though it's not up to me. It's no hell-hole. You'll survive."

He watched the flickers of curiosity and fear in Neal's eyes. Because he was 'Neal' in his mind now, he had to admit to himself. Admit and be aware of to stay professional. He also saw admiration and trust in the kid's eyes. It was unusual. Most suspects were afraid of him or what they might say when he pushed them. It did not seem as if this was what Neal feared at all.

"You are aware that I'm here to gain information that could be used against you in court?" He wanted to be absolutely sure this kid knew this was serious and a game that could give him several years in prison.

"And why do you think I have such information?" Neal replied with an innocent smile.

Peter sighed.

"Just answer the question, Caffrey."

"Yes, Agent Burke, I'm aware that you're here to gain information to be used against me."

"Thank you. I also want to inform you that everything said in this room is recorded."

"Oh, so that's why we have two microphones on the table?"

Peter ignored the remark.

"There is also a camera rolling. Understand?" He gave him a look as to tell him just to answer.

"Yes, Agent Burke, I understand."

He gave the kid a nod of approval. Then he gave him a curious look.

"You ever been to jail?" Peter asked. He knew Caffrey had not been arrested in the US unless he succeeded to get in under an alias, which was uncommon. But he had been abroad more than once during the three years Peter had chased him.

"Just cuffed, in Italy."

"Released?"

"Escaped." Neal beamed at him with pride.

Peter studied him. The adrenaline of the success was wearing off, and this interview would take a while.

"I'm hungry. How about you?" By Neal's look, he added: "It's not a trick question, Caffrey. Do you want some dinner? I can get us some pizza if you want to."

"That sounds nice."

Peter pointed at the glass pane on the wall beside the table, the one that was not in clear glass.

"That's a one-way glass. Agents are watching you on the other side. The door will lock when I leave. If you try to get out while I'm ordering dinner —"

"I won't. I promise."

"Good."

* * *

Neal watched Agent Burke leave. What he had experienced so far fascinated him. Though he had studied the agent for three years now, it surprised him how little he had known of him as a person. Did Burke experience the same about him?

When they sat in the car, Burke had shown what felt like genuine interest in his wellbeing. It had stunned him. He could not see that Burke had anything special to win to keep him comfortable to body and soul, other than honoring the ideals of the FBI. Which matched what his intel had told him: Burke made the FBI proud. It was not for nothing he was considered one of their best white collar agents.

What this would mean to Neal as a person under arrest had come as a surprise. He had been terrified in the car. Though he was curious he had been afraid as well. Agent Peter Burke had not only considered it as something natural and nothing to be ashamed of, but he had also done his best to ease his prisoner's angst. Could he feel anything but respect for that man?

His eyes wandered around the room. It was of old habit. He figured out how things were put together, where the weaknesses were, and how they could be exploited. He rose from his seat, careful not to move too fast and startle anyone watching. Agent Burke had a point. An escape attempt would not make things easier for him. Without a well thought out plan it would demand too much luck to get all the way out, and what then? Do it just for show off would do him no good. He put his hands in his pockets and wandered about in the room, studying the construction of the glass room, just for the fun of it.

He had been lucky getting Agent Burke on his case. There would have been so many others who had not cared a bit if the cuffs were too tight. Peter Burke was a man he could trust. Neal would not get any favors, but Peter would keep him from unjust treatment. It meant a lot.

* * *

While Peter waited for the pizza to arrive, he watched Neal through the one-way glass together with Jones. Neal walked around in the room, inspecting it as if he considered the best way to get out. But he made no intention of doing anything of the sort. He just circled the room, observing.

"He's one of a kind, isn't he?" Jones said beside him. Peter nodded.

"He is."

"Do you think he'll confess to anything?"

"I would be surprised."

"You're gonna stress him?"

"The second it becomes unpleasant, he will ask for a lawyer. Our only chance is to play nice, win his trust."

"Oh, I think he trusts you already. I saw you back in the car. You calmed him down pretty good just by being there, I think. But no matter who much much he trusts you, confessing will give him prison time. He knows that."

Peter considered.

"Perhaps you're right. If he confesses, it's by accident. Let's see how long he can manage without slipping."


	5. Moving on

**Moving on**

"I agree, the coffee is terrible." Neal put the mug back on the table.

"And a few cups of it obviously didn't do the trick," Peter had to admit. Neal just sent him a dazzling smile. Peter could not help returning it.

They were both exhausted. In eight hours Peter had not gained one single piece of information useful in a trial. Just as he had expected. They had both enjoyed the game, he was sure of it. They had laughed more than once. And for the last hours, he had gained a considerable amount of respect for the real person Neal Caffrey, and not only for the one on their white-board and case files.

To his surprise, he could not mention one time Neal had told him a lie. He had never denied or confirmed any of the crimes they suspected him of. He had just dodged the question, answered with another question or simply pointed out it was all alleged crimes. No slip-ups, not once.

But they had him on the bond-forgery no matter what he said or not. Peter rose from his seat.

"I'm gonna call for a transport for you to the detention center now." Neal's expression shifted from the playful Neal to something he could not quite read.

"You aren't taking me?"

"Is there a problem, Neal?"

"No, it's just you did seem triumphant when you arrested me." Peter gave him a shocked look.

"That was me—"

"Winning a challenge, I know. I'm okay with that," Neal assured him. Peter glared at him, not sure where this conversation was going. "I just thought you wanted to take me there, that's all." Neal's eyes got that flicker of fear again. He wanted Peter to take him.

"Look, Neal, I'm your case agent, not your friend. I will testify against you in court." To his surprise, Neal smiled.

"I know."

"Let me put it this way then" Peter tried again since it felt like the message had not gone through. "People who haven't been to jail before tend to freak out. It's something most people don't want to do in front of their case agent." When Peter met Neal's eyes, he saw the kid had understood all along. It was Peter who had not got the message.

"Maybe I'd rather freak out in front of you, than some random guy in uniform." Neal swallowed hard, and Peter saw him tremble ever so slightly.

"All right. Fine. I'll take you in," Peter agreed. He brought out his handcuffs. Neal rose and put his hands on the back.

"In front of you, palms up," Peter instructed. Neal held out his hands as instructed. Peter locked the cuffs around his wrists and saw Neal tried not to flinch when he did so. No, this kid had not been cuffed many times in his life. Yet.

Cuffing suspects with their hands in front did not restrict the range of movement much and gave them a handy chain to strangle you with. But it was vastly more comfortable than being cuffed behind the back. Both physically and emotionally. For someone like Neal, who were non-violent, restraints could afford to be more psychological than physical. FBI was not there to deliberately torment suspects.

"Don't try anything," he warned.

"I won't," Neal returned.

Peter took him by the arm, and they left towards the elevators. Neal walked by his side, observing everything it seemed, but making no move to run. At this hour the office was dark and empty except for the agents who had been monitoring the interrogation. As they waited for the elevator, he saw Neal scanning through the glass doors.

"Your office?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have a white-board on me?" Peter nodded. "Can I see it?"

"No."

"Why not?" He sounded like a little kid now, and Peter felt like he was explaining the obvious.

"It's one o'clock at night for starters. Then you need to be part of the investigation team to get to see the material."

"Even if it's about myself?"

"Yeah." The elevator arrived, and he and Neal stepped inside. As the doors closed he let go of Neal's arm and he leaned his back against the wall. Neal did the same along another wall. It was late and they were tired.

"How many years do you think I'll get?"

"The bonds can give you four years as a maximum. All the other charges could add on." They both knew without saying that it was unlikely he would be considered as guilty beyond doubt for anything but the bonds, but Peter did not want to say anything that could be taken as promises. This was not one of the cases where he would make a deal with the prosecutor. That demanded cooperation when it came to interrogation too.

"Where?"

"A federal medium security prison, most likely. You do know it is up to the judge?" Neal nodded.

"Can you pass her my address, when you know?" Peter met his eyes. Kate. Who else?

"Sure."

They reached the garage and the car. He glanced at Neal. He did not seem as he was about to freak out. Peter opened the door to the backseat. Neal got into the car with just a gesture from Peter and this time managed the seatbelt himself. Peter got in on the driver's seat on the other side.

They drove out in the night traffic of Manhattan. Even at this time, there was traffic, but less dense and it had a quiet atmosphere about it.

Neal remained calm and alert. But he was quiet.

"You okay?" Peter asked. Neal nodded.

* * *

It was strange, Neal thought, but he did feel okay. He felt safe with Peter. And even more, he was almost sure Peter liked him. The agent that he had been teasing and wanting to impress for three years had been nothing but kind and professional. And they had had fun together. It was a long time since he had enjoyed someone's company so much. And it was weird it should happen when under arrest with the man capturing him.

Soon this ride would end, and he would have to make it on his own without Peter. It was not a pleasant thought, but he had made it on his own before.

Neal knew he was impulsive. He knew he should have listened to Mozzie and not go to the warehouse. He smelled a trap and Neal should have too. But his need to find Kate had made him not to care. Another person might feel regret but Neal was not that kind of person. He accepted his failures and moved on. Hopefully, he had learned something.

* * *

"You said you escaped the cuffs in Italy," Peter remembered. "How did you do that?"

"I unlocked them."

"Can you show me?" He saw Neal watching him in the rearview mirror.

"I'd rather not."

"Fair enough," Peter sighed. If his suspect felt a risk of being framed he had to respect that.

They rode in silence until Peter drove into the sally port at the detention center. Peter stepped out and opened Neal's door. Neal's eyes scanned the place, but Peter guessed he always did when he faced a new place. Just as he had in the interrogation room. Peter took him by the arm. Then Neal handed him his cuffs with a wide beam. Peter stared dumbfounded.

"You had those on when you stepped out of the car."

"I did," Neal confirmed. Peter could nothing but grin.

"You unlocked them. How?" The kid showed a bobby-pin with one end bent to be used as a key. Peter motioned for him to give it to him and Neal did it without objection. Then Neal held out his hands without being asked and Peter put the cuffs back on.

Peter led him towards the sturdy doors to be buzzed in. The kid gave him a look of respect and affection.

"Thank you, Agent Burke. For everything." Peter nodded in acknowledgment but was not sure how else he could have treated this suspect.

Peter was not a cruel man, and those people he arrested were human beings. This young man was cooperative when it came to practical issues and non-violent. He also had a sense of humor Peter liked.

"It's been a pleasure knowing you, Neal."

"I can say the same about you, Peter." Peter smiled at the sudden familiarity. "You're still on my birthday cards list." They both laughed. He liked this positive, playful young man.

"Why?" he could not help himself asking. Neil shrugged and beamed at him. Maybe he wasn't sure himself; maybe he didn't want to tell. Peter was certain there was no malice or bullying in it, no matter reason.

* * *

The door buzzed and they walked inside. It was a room with no windows and no furniture, only three doors and two guards. One of them handed Peter a clipboard with intake paperwork. Peter filled out the forms and returned them while Neal waited by his side watching, learning, and did his best not appear hostile.

An officer opened one of the other two doors. It was to what seemed to be where he was going next.

"It's the security lobby where we check you in" the guard with the paperwork informed him.

"What's the rating on TripAdvisor?" he asked with a grin. The guard gave him a look that told him not to be a smart-ass. Neal felt a rising panic.

"It's too exclusive to be rated" Peter replied with a smile to his question and Neal felt his pulse return to normal. "And no reservation is needed in advance." Now the two guards in the room seemed amused as well. Peter had calmed him and told the guards indirectly that their new inmate was harmless. An amazing man indeed.

Peter unlocked Neal's cuffs.

"This is where we part ways, Neal."

"It's been a pleasure, Peter."

"You know where to find me if you need to talk. And do call if you need to." Neal wanted to hug his new friend but knew it was a terrible idea.

"Thank you."

The two guards gestured for Neal to walk into the next room. He did without fuss. The door shut behind him.


	6. To prison

**To prison**

As Neal had expected he was only convicted for the bonds but the sentence had come as a complete surprise: four years at Sing Sing, a maximum security prison with a reputation that made you shiver.

While he had been waiting in his cell for the transportation, the tremor he had felt in the car when arrested had returned. He had swallowed his pride and called Peter, the man who had brought comfort and stability to him then.

He could only make a collect call and had to state his name. Peter would know who called. Neal listened to the signals for what felt like ages.

"Hello, Neal." Peter had accepted the call! He had had no reason to. He had done his job; the case was closed.

"Peter." Neal was on the verge of crying. He fought it. "What did I do wrong?" he asked when he got his voice back. "Why a high-security prison?"

"The judge only sees the accused in the courtroom. Do you have any idea what impression you made, Neal?"

"Calm, harmless" Neal tried.

"Try cocky and without respect for anything or anybody. You pissed the judge off, Neal."

"That insurance-woman Sarah Ellis added to that image." Had she called him a sociopath?

"She has the right to her opinion. And her words wouldn't have had any effect if you had proved to be the opposite. You just solidified her statements."

They were harsh words. Neal swallowed. Peter had been there. He had seen the trial and Neal trusted him. Now it was a matter of surviving prison. His whole body shivered.

"Neal?"

"Yeah?"

"I know you can make friends easily. That ought to count for prison inmates and guards as well. Just be yourself. You're one of the most optimistic persons I've ever met. I'm sure you can figure out a way to make it in there."

Neal felt the same calmness run through his body as when Peter had helped him relax after his arrest. This would work out.

"Thanks, Peter."

"Good luck, Neal."

* * *

Peter sat with the phone in his hand considering the call he just had with Neal. He had phone calls from felons before. They had never been friendly.

The first Neal had said was: "What did I do wrong?" He had not blamed anyone. Well, Sarah Ellis, maybe, but he had not protested when Peter argued against it. Neal wanted to learn. Not perhaps how to live an honest life, but he was eager to learn whatever he could have use for. He listened and learned. How many in their mid-twenties had that quality?

It had been something in the kid's voice. A panic. He knew he had done something wrong to get sentenced to a high-security prison but he could not figure out what. Now he was scared to do the same mistake in prison. Unless he learned what to do instead.

How much pride had it cost Neal to make that call? Admitting a flaw, not being able to hide his fright. The kid had made a wise choice.

He made a note in his calendar four years from now. He wanted to keep an eye on this young man when he got out. And, yes, he wanted to talk to him again.

* * *

When the chains were put on for the transport, Neal's optimism failed him again. Peter had put faith in him when he had cuffed him with his hands in front. It had hardly been a restraint. To be chained to hands and feet was the opposite. And it was terrifying.

Neal walked with three other future inmates of Sing Sing, chained to hands and feet towards the bus that would take them there. The other three men were far more threatening in their appearance than he could ever be.

Not once since his arrest had he been humiliated. He accepted to be cuffed. It was a matter of safety for the agents and keeping a suspect from running. It made sense. Leg-irons and the hands locked to a belly-chain was not so much a matter of safety as of humiliation.

With the help of the marshals, he stepped on the bus. If he was to survive in prison, he must not allow himself to be humiliated. Not by standard procedures. Procedures made to handle violent people. As Peter had pointed out, Neal was non-violent. He just had to prove it. And show that he could respect and care for others, those softer traits he had tried to repress as a criminal.

He would make it. Four years. Four years and not a single day more. For Kate.


	7. Escape

**Escaping**

Neal jumped into one of the old maintainer's trucks by the prison he just escaped from. They were not the most discrete vehicles but they were easy to hotwire. He got it started without a problem. With a grin, he pushed his old music cassette in the player and pocketed the three dollar bills he found in the unused ashtray.

So far so good. Now he was on the road. They would probably find out he had escaped within an hour, but then he would be long gone.

One hour later he reached the outskirts of JFK Airport. He pulled off his uniform jacket and abandoned the truck. In T-shirt and black pants he walked along the sidewalk with people having flea markets. He saw what he hoped to find: a yellow windbreaker jacket.

The seller saw his interest.

"Hi, how are you doing, man?" Neal sent him one of his best smiles.

"Good, how're you doing?"

"I'm fine."

Neal puts the jacket on in front of a mirror.

"Only five bucks, man."

"I'll give you three" Neal beamed back.

"Okay."

* * *

Peter paced back and forth in the bank, surrounded by FBI-agents. They were waiting, just as he.

"Drop three" was heard from within the vault where an agent was working to crack the code to a safe.

"Drop two… Drop four. All pins down, preparing to open."

Three, two, four? Peter frowned.

"Three, two, four?" In an instant, he knew. "Wait!" he yelled. But it was too late. There was a bang and from the vault burst a cloud of smoke and dust. Peter ran inside, grabbed the agent and pulled him out.

"Are you okay!?"

"What happened?" the man coughed.

"I said wait, you didn't wait!" In his heart, he knew he yelled too late. The agent had no reason to wait. "Ah! Ten thousand man hours to get this close to the Dutchman and you blow up my evidence." Frustration took the better of him.

"Agent Burke, how did you know it was going to do that?" Jones asked. Peter brushed the dust off his suit.

"Three-two-four. Look at your phones. What's it spell?" Jones was not the only one pulling out his phone. Every keypad also had letters.

"Oh, FBI."

"Yeah, FBI."

"Apparently knew we were coming…"

"You think so, Copernicus?" Peter noticed red, glimmering fibers on his suit. They were not that willing to leave when he brushed with his hand. "Somebody wanna- wanna tell me what this is?" He pulled one off with his fingers, holding it "Huh? Anybody? Nobody knows what it is? Great! Where is Diana? Nobody knows that either?"

"She's got a call," Jones said.

"Then go get her!" Burke waved and Jones left. "Look at you. How many of you went to Harvard?"

It was a rhetorical question, but most of the agents raised their hands. Peter felt he was surrounded by idiots.

"Don't- don't raise your hands. Don't." He saw Diana walking towards him. Someone with a brain at last. "Ah, Diana. Look at this. Apparently, our boy has a sense of humor." Diana did not smile. "What?"

"Neal Caffrey escaped." Peter stared at her. Neal? Now? He made a quick calculation in his head. The kid had only four months left. Had he fled a super-max with four months to go? It did not make any sense.

Diana pulled him down the hallway, away from the crowd and the mess.

"Are they sure?" Peter asked though it was a stupid question.

"He walked out through the front door, dressed as a guard," Diana told him. Peter grinned. She dusted off his suit too and handed him a file.

"What's this?"

"U.S. Marshalls are requesting your help" Diana replied with a proud smile.

"My help?"

"Director Thompson asked for you personally."

"Me? Why would he want me?"

"Probably because you're the only one who ever caught him." Peter was not in his best mood and thought of them all as lazy bastards. "They sent you a chopper," Diana added. Oh, great. They sent a chopper. Hard to say no then.

Peter had not liked the idea of Neal in a high-security prison. It was not a place for any white collar first-time offender. Now it turned out that it had not been enough to keep him inside. What Peter could not understand was why. Why now? If he had been able to get out all the time, why stay for so long? And why not wait four months and be free?

They got to the chopper and Peter stepped inside. The pilot handed him some more papers with updates. They had found an old truck missing and Neal's prison uniform tucked into the water tank of a toilet.

* * *

At the airport, Neal monitored the car parking service and the valets in yellow windbreakers. He jogged over when a fancy cabriolet approached.

"Sir!" He called upon the driver's attention.

"Take good care of her, I'll be back in a month" the rich man instructed as he handed Neal a hundred dollar bill.

"Thank you, sir." Neal jumped into the car and drove away. So easy he did it just for fun. The truck could have taken him all the way but this way he could hopefully get a few more hours. Now he drove into New York City with style.

Neal felt as if he could conquer the World. This was freedom. Illusion as it may be but gee, this was living. Wind in his hair, a fancy car, and New York City.

* * *

When Peter walked in through the same door Neal walked out four hours earlier he was met by a man who was quick to greet him.

"Agent Burke. I'm Thompson, U.S. Marshalls. Appreciate the help. You were the case agent?"

"Yes, I was."

"And you had the change to look over the surveillance footage of Caffrey's escape on the way over?"

"Yes, I did."

"So you'll agree this is an unusual situation." Peter nodded. It was.

"Why would Neal run with four months left on a four-year sentence?" he asked.

"Well, that's what we're wondering." Peter had not expected them to know.

"It's not because he is stupid," Peter pointed out. Thompson and Peter turned when the next door in line used for Neal's escape opened.

"This is Warden Haskley" Thompson introduced the newcomer. "Agent Burke, FBI."

"You're the guy who dropped the ball," Peter remarked. Of what he read in the folder the prison could be compared to a pet zoo.

"You of all people should know what Caffrey's capable of," the Warden pointed out as if it was a valid excuse to let Neal escape.

"I know. I spent three years of my life chasing him and you let him walk out the front door." Peter had had a bad start of the day and this little charade did not make it better.

"Gentlemen" Thompson broke in "Might I remind you that Caffrey has a four-hour head start?" He gestured for them to continue inside and Peter followed Thompson's example.

They walked along the cell block toward Neal's cell.

"Caffrey came out of the E-block staff bathroom dressed as a guard" Peter remembered from the file. "Where did he get the uniform?"

"Uniform Supply Company on the Internet," Thompson replied.

"He used a credit card?" Peter's question was followed by silence until the warden cleared his throat.

"He, uh, used my wife's American Express." Peter had to keep himself from grinning all over his face.

"We're tracking the number in case he uses it again," Thompson informed him.

"He won't."

They stopped outside Neal's open cell door. Peter stepped inside. Drawings and paintings on the walls. Books. It was a neat place. Neal's private space, though nothing in a prison was ever private. On the left wall was tally marks. One for each day in prison, Peter concluded with a quick calculation in his head.

"How'd he get the key card for the gate?"

"Well, we think he restriped a utility card using the record head on that." The cassette player on the table. Peter ejected the cassette, amazed that those things still existed.

"Should've given him a CD player."

On his bed, they had collected the contraband they had found. Peter browsed a book about truck maintenance.

"He walked out the front door, hotwired a maintenance truck in the parking lot," Thompson said as to explain the book. Neal sure learned how from this book Peter thought. "We found it abandoned near the airport. We beefed up security just in case he tries to get out that way."

Among the pages was a flyer.

"Well, we're not going to catch Caffrey using roadblocks and wanted posters," Peter mumbled and watched the photo of men in yellow windbreakers on the airport. Parking service. He handed Thompson the folder.

"Check with them if they got a car stolen today." Thompson nodded and left. Peter picked up the razor and mirror.

"What's this?"

"We found them in the toilet tank with the jumpsuit," the Warden informed him. "He shaved his beard just before he escaped." Beard?

"Neal doesn't have a beard…"

"Well, you can see for yourself that he had," Haskley offered as if Peter had not believed him.

* * *

They walked to the surveillance office where Thompson met up. The warden talked to one of the guards who opened a photo of Neal with a beard at his cell door.

"The inmates are photographed each morning as they exit their cells."

Peter stared at the image of Neal in a scraggly beard.

"I hardly recognize him."

"Yeah, I think that's the point," Thompson sighed.

"This morning?" Peter asked the guard.

"Yes."

"Run the series back."

Like a flipbook, Neal's beard disappeared day by day.

"Stop." This was the clean-shaved Neal he knew. "That's it, when he stopped shaving. I want to know everything that happened that day." A month and a half back in time.

"I'll get interviews with the inmates started." Warden Haskley left.

"Get me that day's mail to Caffrey" Peter ordered one of the guards.

"I'll talk to the guards if something happened." Thompson left too.

Peter watched the image of Neal on the screen. At this specific image, he looked in the camera's direction. The kid had kept sending him birthday cards. Apart from those, he had not heard anything from him. If things had been too bad for him, Peter guessed he would have called, as he had after his sentence.

Was he still the positive, charming guy or had prison time taken that away from him? If it had, Peter was the first to grieve.

Peter got a small pile of mail from a guard. A magazine about art. Three letters. He read the letters first. To his surprise, they were fan-letters from two women and one man who appeared to be complete strangers, but in love with Neal. He asked the guard if Neal used to get this kind of mail and the guard returned with a box full. Peter read a few of them. They all seemed about the same, nothing upsetting or special about the three he got that particular day.

"I think he answered every single one of them," the guard told him with a smile. "Always a very polite rejection, telling he already has a girlfriend." Girlfriend? That reminded Peter of something.

"Get me the visitor's log."

Thompson and the warden returned about the same time.

"I've interviewed at least twenty guards," Thompson said. "He didn't cause them much trouble, was nice. They liked him."

"So say the inmates" informed the warden. "One of few who got friends on both sides. There were no threats or bullying. No reason to run."

"He had a visitor," Peter told them and pointed in the log.

"'Kate Moreau'" Thompson read. "You know her?"

"Yeah" Peter sighed. "I do." Why was he not surprised she was involved in this? What else would make Neal act so goddamn stupid?

The warden got the footage from the visit running. A silent movie in black and white.

"No audio?"

"No," the warden confirmed. They saw Kate clearly on the other side of the glass and the back of Neal and his reflection in the glass.

"She comes back every week like clockwork." Thompson had been browsing the log.

"She's not thrilled about this visit" Peter noted.

"How soon can we get a lip-reader here?" Thompson asked the warden. Kate rose and Neal placed his hand against the glass as if he wanted to stop her.

"I'll save you the trouble," Peter said. "'Adios, Neal. It's been real.' She came back next week?" Peter thought that she already knew.

"She never came back" Thompson confirmed.

"Okay. Let's find Kate."


	8. Meeting

**Meeting**

Peter Burke walked up the stairs. The landlord had told him that Kate Moreau returned her keys to him two days ago. Rent still paid for another four months though. She had moved out but left something for Neal to find. He hoped that whatever lead there was to her current whereabouts he could figure it out faster than Neal.

He was not surprised to find the door to her apartment ajar. A Jaguar registered on a man living on a completely different address was in the garage. Probably something Neal had picked up along the way. Of course, he had been there before him, with four hours head start.

Peter pushed the door open and stepped inside. The apartment was silent, deserted. Or was it? He took another step, sideways, to get a better view. A leg. Someone was sitting on the floor, leaning against the pillar. Neal? He did not believe it. It was too easy. It was not the way it was supposed to be with Neal. The kid knew he was a fugitive, a hunted man. Yet he stayed?

He walked closer. No reaction. Neal sat with a wine bottle. Had he been drinking? Not likely. Not Neal, not now.

"I see Kate moved out." He announced his presence. He saw Neal startle but then remained seated, passive. It was not the resourceful, optimistic Neal he had before him, the one who escaped a maximum security prison to visit his loved one. It was the devastated, heartbroken kid who had given up everything only to end up empty-handed.

Peter stopped a few feet behind him. Neal still held the bottle.

"Did she leave a message in that?"

"The bottle is the message," he got as a reply.

"It's been awhile."

"Yeah. A few years give or take." It was Neal alright. He had seen Neal's cell. The kid had perfect control of the number of days he had been inside. And he knew that Peter knew.

"Are you carrying?" A question he needed to ask.

"You know I don't like guns." It was not a 'no,' but he figured he knew Neal well enough to guarantee he was not armed, not even with his wit and charm it seemed.

"They asked me what makes a guy like you pull a boneheaded escape with four months to go." Peter began to round the pillar to face Neal. He still was not entirely sure if the scene was as it seemed. You never quite knew with Neal.

"Guess you figured it out."

Peter smiled at Neal giving him credit. After all, he had just caught up with him.

"Kate says adios to you at prison then gets busy with her disappearing act. Her trail ends here." Peter had passed the pillar and looked at Neal. The kid was a wreck. "But you already know that."

"I missed her by two days."

"Still, only took you a month and a half to escape a super-max. Damn impressive." It was. You were not supposed to be able to escape at all, but this kid, once he got into his head to do something he did it. Neal agreed as if there was nothing to it, but it was. It was what made Neal so special. And dangerous. Not in a violent way, but in an unpredictable way. In the way that made it necessary to mistrust and consider everything he did from every possible angle. Which was sad, since Neal was a nice guy.

Peter picked up is com-radio. Time to tell the rest of the team.

"All clear. Subject identified and unarmed."

"Roger that," an unknown voice from the other end returned. 'Subject'? He wanted to say 'Neal is here, I'm bringing him out now'. But he was part of a massive crew of people who did not know Neal or cared for his distress. He was an escapee who made them embarrassed for every second he remained on the run. The marshals had asked for his help. This was their case, not the FBI's.

"We surrounded?" Neal asked with a sudden panic in his voice. Peter nodded. "How many?"

"Including my agents and the marshals? All of them, I think." He watched Neal's reaction to this. Would he try to run? Neal remained where he was, nodded without further comments. Peter looked at the bottle in Neal's hand.

"What's the message?"

"'Goodbye.'" Neal put the bottle down on the floor as if he accepted that Kate was gone and left it at that. Peter knew what she meant to Neal. Nothing could ever leave him more devastated than being dumped by her.

"Women." A bad try for a joke. But they both shared a wicked smile. "We're gonna give you another four years for this, you know." Neal, what were you thinking, he wanted to yell. You can plan how to escape, but you do not once consider if it is worth it? It is the second time you get to spend time because you cannot stay away from Kate.

"I don't care."

Peter stared at Neal. The answer had not been cocky. It came from someone who had given up. Had he given up on life too? A chill went through Peter. Neal turned his head as if he felt Peter's distress. The kid's eyes looked him up and down and then his face broke into an unexpected grin. He rose to his feet.

"That's the same suit you were wearing the last time you arrested me."

Peter relaxed. This was more of the Neal he knew. He did not want to tell his salary did not give him the option to have a wardrobe full of suits. Besides, he liked this one.

"Classics never go out of style."

They both grinned. Then Peter saw Neal's eyes focusing on something. Neal raised his hand towards him. Probably the kid saw him tensing because he made a reassuring gesture, like 'you know me, I'm not going to harm you.' His hand moved slowly towards Peter's shoulder. Peter knew what Neal had seen before he got there. Those red shreds of fiber still clinging to his suit.

Neal picked one and gave it a closer look.

"You know what this is?" he asked Peter with that excited, playful look in his eyes. They both heard steps of many feet up the stairs, but Neal did not flinch. That little red shiny thread had him.

"No idea" Peter admitted. "I got it from a case I was supposed to be working on before they yanked me off to find you."

"You think you'll catch him?"

"Don't know. He's good. Maybe as good as you." They both knew no one had been as hard to catch as Neal Caffrey. And by the end of the day, they had only been able to prove one crime out of many in court. If it had not been for Peter, they would not likely have caught him at all.

"What's it worth if I tell you what this is? Is it worth a meeting?"

"What are you talking about?" What was happening here? Where was this going? Time was getting short, and Neal seemed to know this. He pressed on:

"If I tell you what this is right now, will you agree to meet me back in prison in one week?" When he saw Peter still figuring about a possible angle, he assured him: "Just a meeting."

"Okay," Peter agreed. "As long as you're right." Angle or no angle.

"It's a security fiber for the new Canadian 100-dollar bill." Neal handed the shiny red thread back to a stunned Peter.

The marshals were close. First, he thought Neal would make a run for it after all, but Neal returned to him and handed over the bottle. He had only moved to scope it up from the floor.

"Take care of this for me," he asked. "Please." Peter accepted it, still dumbfounded. The kid raised his hands and waited for what was inevitable.

They burst into the room, guns raised.

One of the marshals yelled to Neal to keep his hands where they could see them, though he already showed his surrender. Peter had figured he would take the lead and keep them calm and not act as if Neal was violent. But as it were, he was too surprised over the turn the conversation had taken to say a word. And the marshals did not expect him to.

A flush of terror rushed over Neal's face as two men grabbed him and forced his hands behind his back. His eyes searched Peter's for assurance. That much he could give him.

"One week," Neal reminded him before he was pulled away.

Peter watched them leave. His part in this was done. He looked at the fiber. How could Neal know? Or had he just came up with something? He had to ask the Canadians.

* * *

Neal sat in the empty apartment and thumbed the bottle. It could not be true. Kate could not be gone. Not for real. She had come to see him in prison every week for three years and eight months. There had been times when there had been lock-downs, or he had been in solitary, and she had had to turn back home again, but she had come every week. He knew because the prison guards had been kind enough to pass along her hello to him.

And then out of the blue, she had come to say goodbye.

He had not expected her apartment to be empty. He had been prepared to find her with another man – or at least he thought so. But not once had he considered if she might have left. His target had been to meet her, talk to her face to face, to touch her. Continue where they left of when he was arrested. Forget the time with glass walls and phones between them. He had to try to make her stay.

Not once had he thought he would face an abandoned apartment. He sat with the empty wine bottle and tried to made sense of the world.

"I see Kate moved out." Peter's voice. Of course. Who else would they place on his trail? Peter had done his job well. If Kate had been here, he would have had the time to talk to her, but now?

His footsteps stopped somewhere behind him.

"Did she leave a message in that?"

"The bottle is the message." Kate had left it there, standing in the middle of the room. A message to Neal, the only one who would know what it was.

"It's been awhile."

"Yeah. A few years give or take." Three years and eight months. A blur of days he wanted to forget they ever existed.

"Are you carrying?" Why did he have to ask? He did not see Peter, but he was certain the agent had not bothered to pull his gun. Because he knew his fugitive. If he did not bother to follow standard procedures when catching a fleeing felon, why bother with the one question to which Peter already knew the answer?

"You know I don't like guns."

Peter did not push it further.

"They asked me what makes a guy like you pull a boneheaded escape with four months to go." It was pride in Peter's voice. They had probably not even had a clue where to start, so they called in the only one who had ever caught him.

"Guess you figured it out."

"Kate says adios to you at prison then gets busy with her disappearing act. Her trail ends here." Peter, why do you need to rub it in? He did not look at the agent, but he saw him in the corner of his eye and heard his footsteps. He had rounded Neal and had him in clear view now.

"But you already know that." So much for a poker face, Neal thought. But he had not bothered. Not for Peter. But he supposed he would not be able to muster a blank face for anyone right then.

"I missed her by two days."

Peter nodded. He had checked the premises before he entered. Neal had not. He had rushed up the stairs first. Then he had searched for the landlord.

"Still, only took you a month and a half to escape a super-max. Damn impressive." In any other situation, Neal would have sucked Peter's admiration as a bee to honey. Now, he did not muster any more than a tired grin.

"All clear. Subject identified and unarmed."

Neal looked up. Peter had alerted the rest of them with his com-radio.

"We surrounded?"

Peter nodded.

"How many?" Somehow he had figured it would be just him and Peter. Stupid idea. A fed never came alone. Not even Peter.

"Including my agents and the marshals? All of them, I think."

Neal sighed. The marshals. Thanks, Peter, for letting me know. He wished Peter knew that all that was needed was Peter himself. He would not even have to use the cuffs.

"What's the message?"

Neal blinked. What? The bottle, of course.

"'Goodbye.'" Neal put the bottle back on the floor where he found it. This was not a day for wishes coming true.

"Women." No. Not women. Just Kate. He smirked. "We're gonna give you another four years for this, you know," Peter added. He did not sound too happy about it.

"I don't care." He was not much for regrets. He had known all the time they would catch him and bring him back. Four years though… He looked at Peter properly for the first time. It was not possible. It was as if no time had passed at all. Lighthearted, he rose to his feet.

"That's the same suit you were wearing the last time you arrested me."

"Classics never go out of style," Peter tried to smooth that the agent had little clue what he was wearing.

They both grinned, probably for different reasons, but still.

Then Neal saw something red glitter on Peter's shoulder. Peter Burke might not bother much for fashion, but he took care of his clothes. He would never leave it there unless Peter was working when they fetched him.

Neal moved his hand to take that red thread from Peter's suit but realized in the last second who he was and where he was. He got eye contact with Peter. Then moved his hand towards his target.

He picked up the red, glimmering strip. He felt his heart beat like a hammer in excitement. Of course, he had not seen one for real before, but he knew nevertheless. What else that looked like this would end up shredded over Peter?

"You know what this is?"

"No idea. I got it from a case I was supposed to be working on before they yanked me off to find you."

Neal felt triumph. He had figured that much out already. And even better: Peter did not know what it was.

"You think you'll catch him?"

"Don't know. He's good. Maybe as good as you."

You know me, Peter, he smiled. This thread changed his plans. And time was short. He heard the marshals coming.

"What's it worth if I tell you what this is? Is it worth a meeting?"

Peter frowned, taken aback.

"What are you talking about?"

"If I tell you what this is right now, will you agree to meet me back in prison in one week?" When he saw Peter still frowning, he assured him: "Just a meeting."

The marshals were close. Please, Peter, trust me on this.

"Okay. As long as you're right."

Neal grinned. He was right and he had his meeting.

"It's a security fiber for the new Canadian 100-dollar bill" he blurted and saw Peter's stunned face. He had got the message. Neal handed the fiber back to Peter.

Neal saw the marshals coming and he scooped up the bottle from the floor and handed it to Peter.

"Take care of this for me," he begged. "Please." If that was the last thing he ever heard from Kate he wanted to keep it forever. He knew Peter would.

He raised his hands in surrender.

Still one of them yelled at him to keep his hands where they could see them. They came with the whole shebang it seamed. Guns, vests, and all. This would be far worse than last time. He braced himself. It felt as if a bee swarm attacked him. Hands from more than one man pulled his arms behind his back and cuffed him.

Panic rushed through him, and his eyes searched for Peter's, found them, and he gained control again. Peter had that effect on him. Peter was the rock that stood firm in any storm.

"One week," he reminded Peter before he was yanked away.

When they got outside he was pushed up against a car and frisked, but he hardly noticed. His brain was focused on that thread and his meeting with Peter. When he got inside the back of the car he could not keep from smiling.

* * *

When Peter arrived to work two days later Diana met up in the lobby. A group of men stood inside the security, waiting. They glared at him. His boss Hughes had called him at breakfast and told him the Canadian SIS had arrived. The men had visitor-badges and obviously knew who he was.

He and Diana continued towards the elevators.

"What's got the belt-and-suspender boys all riled up?" Peter wanted to know. Diana grinned.

"You."

"Me? What'd I do?"

"Caffrey was right," Diana informed him. "That stuff from the bank vault security fibers for the new Canadian 100."

Peter whistled as he got the file from Diana. Neal Caffrey was right. Amazing. Ha scanned the document from the Canadians confirming the thread's origin.

"Well, I'll be damned."

"The formulation's still classified. The Canadian secret service are very curious to know how you figured it out."

Peter grinned. What would they say when they heard who had told him?

"Should be fun."

"You may have started an international incident."

* * *

"How did you know?" Peter was curious and Neal was proud. He had impressed Peter.

"Come on, Peter. It's what I do. How upset were the Canadians?"

"Oh, very." Peter laughed. "Well, as upset as Canadians can get." He moved from the window and leaned towards one of the tables. "All right, so I agreed to a meeting. We're meeting." Meaning, 'why am I here?'. Well, Neal was ready.

"I know why you call him the Dutchman. Like the ghost ship. He disappears whenever you get close."

Peter blinked, taken aback.

"How do you know anything about him?"

"You know my life. You don't think I know yours? Did you get the birthday cards?"

"Nice touch."

"You've been after the Dutchman almost as long as you were after me. I'll help you catch him." Neal knew how to persuade people. He knew his assets in charm and had added a great deal of seductive tone in what he said.

"Really? Really? How does that work? You wanna be prison pen pals?" Peter was not impressed. Neal opened the folder he had brought with him and pushed it across the table. Peter sat down across from him. Neal leaned closer.

"You can get me out of here. There's case law. Precedent. I can be released into your custody."

Peter grinned.

"Nice. This is very nice. But you're right, I do know you. And I know the second you're out, you'll take off after Kate."

"Peter, I am not gonna run."

Peter gave him a face. 'Oh really?' He had every reason to. Neal pushed another paper across the table.

"GPS tracking anklet. The new ones are tamper-proof. Never been skipped on."

Peter gave it a glance.

"There's always a first time."

To his horror, Neal realized he had lost. Peter was not interested.

"Think about it," Neal pleaded.

"Sorry, Neal." Peter rose and took the folder. He pattered him on the shoulder on his way out. "Nice try."

Neal turned to say something but could not come up with anything to say that would change anything. With Peter left his only chance to find Kate and also solidified the fate of his next four years.

* * *

For Peter, it had been a long week. It had taken the Canadians less than forty-eight hours to confirm Caffrey was right about the red fiber. Then he had done little but waiting to see Neal. When the Canadians heard the source of the information was locked up in a high-security prison they had thought he must have been guessing. Peter was pretty sure he had not. Now he waited eagerly in the visitor's room.

Neal gave him the big smile he remembered from his arrest and interrogation four years ago.

"Hello, Peter. Glad to see you."

The guard handed Neal a file. Probably something that had been passed its own way in there due to security. Neal sat down by one of the tables. He was easy, charming, and playful.

"How did you know?" Peter asked.

"Come on, Peter. It's what I do. How upset were the Canadians?"

"Oh, very." Peter laughed. "Well, as upset as Canadians can get. All right, so I agreed to a meeting. We're meeting."

"I know why you call him the Dutchman. Like the ghost ship. He disappears whenever you get Close."

Peter trigged at once. Neal was not supposed to know this either. That name was only used internally within the FBI.

"How do you know anything about this?"

"You know my life. You don't think I know yours? Did you get the birthday cards?"

"Nice touch." Peter had noticed a chance in Neal's voice. It had begun the moment he talked about the Dutchman. A seductive tone. This was Neal's agenda. It was something in here he wanted from Peter.

"You've been after the Dutchman almost as long as you were after me. I'll help you catch him."

"Really? Really? How does that work? You wanna be prison pen pals?" Peter was a bit annoyed now. He was not easy to manipulate and this kid tried to do so as the first action. Why could he not just ask? Do it the honest way? He was Special Agent Peter Burke, the case agent that had caught him, twice. Yet Neal thought he could get what he wanted by changing the tone of his voice. Neal pushed the folder he had across the table towards him. Peter sat down on the bench on the other side of the table and scanned the paper Neal brought him.

"You can get me out of here. There's case law. Precedent. I can be released into your custody."

So this was what he wanted. Good luck with that, Peter thought. You started off the wrong way to have me on board and this was insane in the first place.

"Nice. This is very nice. But you're right, I do know you. And I know the second you're out, you'll take off after Kate."

"Peter, I am not gonna run."

Peter gave him a glare. 'How stupid do you think I am?' Neal slid the final paper across the table.

"GPS tracking anklet. The new ones are tamper-proof. Never been skipped on."

He was good at this, Peter admitted. Had a solid, prepared answer to the obvious objection to it all, and an objective one too.

"There's always a first time." He saw Neal knew he had lost the case. It was not without Peter was pleased to let Neal know he had outsmarted him.

"Think about it," the kid pleaded.

Peter took the papers and rose.

"Nice try, Neal." He pated Neal on the shoulder as he left.

As he walked down the corridor and was let out of the prison building he asked himself if he had been too harsh on the kid. It was Neal's life Peter held in his hands, his future. And he had risen and left just because he Neal had used the wrong approach. Perhaps Neal had an honest wish to help them catch the Dutchman. In either case, it could do Neal good to learn he was not susceptible for that seductive voice. If he wanted something from him, he needed to show the decency to appear honest.

In the car, it stroke him that he still did not know how Neal could know the things he did. He had come to the meeting to learn how he had got the information. It seemed as they both left empty-handed.


	9. Thinking

**Thinking**

Neal was too used to get things his way to handle rejection well. It did not make the situation better when what he wanted meant so much to him. Now he faced four more years in prison. Any day he would be told what his escape would cost him in solitary. His cell looked very much like when he first arrived. When he escaped all his belongings had been removed as part of the punishment. He did not care much. In time he would get them back. Or gain new ones. It did not matter. He was not attached to any of those items in particular. When you had left your old life once with nothing but your clothes and some pocket-money and lived ready to run at short noticed ever since, you learned not to fancy things, earthly matters, too much.

One morning before they were let out for breakfast two guards turned up by his cell door, Bobby and Stuart. He liked them both, Bobby in particular. And he had made sure to respect them as guards and never tried to con any of them. These guys could make his life a misery if they wanted to.

"The board has made its decision" Bobby informed him. Neal saw on Bobby's face that this was not something he wanted to hear.

"How long?"

"Four weeks." Neal fought to keep his face neutral but he could feel the panic rising. "I'm sorry, Neal."

The cell door opened. Neal sighed and left with the two guards. Other inmates along the block wished him good luck and told him to hang on in there.

The first times he had been taken to solitary they had cuffed him with his hands on his back. He had been told it was a precaution for the safety of the guards. Those going willingly to solitary were few. Most of the inmates got there because of fighting. Over time the guards knew him well enough to know he was not violent even when in distress. Now they took him there without restrains. This time Neal had to fight the urge to run for the first time. Bobby put a hand on his shoulder.

"I know you're not happy about this, son. But don't make this worse than it has to be." It was spooky how that man could read his mind sometimes. Probably a result of years in a profession where he had to maneuver violent men in the calmest possible manner. Neal nodded and tried to relax. If Peter had bought the deal, would he ever have punished him like this?

Bobby did a pat-down on him and Neal stepped inside the room where he would spend the next four weeks and the door shut behind him.

You could be locked up in there for your own protection. Then you got to have a TV, music and such. Neal was there to be punished. He knew he could get a book if he was lucky. All he had was a concrete box with a mattress, a toilet, and a sink. The light would be turned off at night and turned on in the morning. Food would arrive three times a day through a slot in the door. He would get an hour outdoors every day in a yard that felt more like being on the bottom of a well, but at least was a bigger area than his cell.

There were people who could handle solitary. Some did not yearn for human contact and could find their own company enough. Neal envied them. He had an impractical need for other people. What was worse was where his brain took him when he was alone with nothing else on his mind. If he had a problem to solve his brain worked on it for as long as needed, but when it was idle it was as if it went wild. Scenes from his childhood, conversations, anything sensitive could go on replay in his head until he thought he would go insane.

He had never had to spend more than two weeks there before. It had been Hell enough. Neal pulled his hands through his hair. He needed a strategy to get out of this with his mind intact. He would find a way through this.

* * *

A month later he was back in his empty cell and life returned to the routine it had had for almost four years. At first, he had been happy about it, being out of solitary. He had sent Peter the yearly birthday card. He did not hear from him after sending the card and did not expect to. He had not heard anything from him since their meeting almost three months ago.

Then prison life became dull again. It was not as mind-nagging as solitary. Just without challenges. The month and a half he had spent preparing for his escape had been the most rewarding time of all on the inside. But he could not see a reason to run again. It was not something he could do just to occupy his brain.

That particular night Neal had a hard time sleeping.

"Lights out, Bobby. Shut them down," someone called down the corridor. Bobby passed his cell.

"Neal." His light was still on. "Gotta turn that off."

"Get one more minute, Bobby?"

"Okay, one minute."

"Is it midnight yet?" Neal wanted to know.

"Yeah, it's midnight."

Neal rose from his bed and drew another mark on the wall, next in line. It was supposed to be the last one. This night was supposed to be his last night in prison. He would have been free. It filled the area he had designated for his prison sentence. Now it was only half-way. The number of marks became overwhelming. It felt as if he had lost everything. Made every mistake possible. In frustration and anger, the crayon flew over the tally marks in thick angry strokes, ruin it. His light-bulb got in his way for his swinging arm and got smashed against the wall.

Neal stood in the dim cell and fought to get hold of himself. He pulled his hands through his hair. Peter was right. He was an optimistic person. He would find a way through this too. Prison would not kill him. He had made four weeks in solitary. He was alive and well and did not need to watch his back which most of them had to. He turned away from the mess on the wall and drew a new mark on the wall over his bed.

The next morning he got a rag and cleaning spray and wiped the mess away. It was time to look forward.

* * *

Peter thumbed the latest birthday card from Neal. It had come a month ago, spot on Peter's birthday, as usual. He had chased the kid, put him in prison, caught him when he escaped and then turned down his deal, leaving him locked up. Still, Neal sent him a greeting on his birthday. Why? What did he gain? And this escape of his and the deal he suggested? What was the angle?

"Are you coming to bed tonight?" His beloved Elisabeth stood in the doorway in her pajamas jacket. He knew he was supposed to be sleeping but his mind was whirling.

"Yeah." He hoped he was, but he was not sure.

"What's wrong?" She put her warm arms around him.

"Nothing." El did not believe him. She knew it was something and she saw the material on their dining room table where he sat. "Don't tell me it's Neal Caffrey. I've been competing with him for three years." She sat down beside him, smiling.

"He'd be out today." In a few hours, he would have walked out the gate a free man.

"You considering his offer? Well, of course, you are, or you'd be in bed with me. Can he help you find him?"

"Neal's smart. You know how much I like smart."

"Is he as smart as those Ivy League coeds they throw at you?" Peter snorted. Yeah, by far smarter. "Is he as smart as Diana?"

He looked at his wife.

"He's almost as brilliant as the woman I married."

"Good answer." She gave him a warm grin. "So, what's the problem?"

"This is not the way it's supposed to go. You get caught, you do your time."

"Well, he has served the time you put him away for," El pointed out.

"There's more to this. More to this than some lost love. Some side angle he's playing." Peter did not like to feel like a fool. What Neal had done did not make any sense. A guy that smart must have a plan.

"So you're suggesting he escapes a maximum-security prison knowing that you'd catch him just so he could trick you into letting him out again?" When she put it that way it seemed far-fetched.

"It's a working theory."

"Yeah. Keep working. Is it so hard for you to believe a man would do that for the woman he loves?" Did this make sense to El? Peter knew he was not much of a romantic, but what the kid had done was just plain stupid.

"Neal just bought himself four more years in prison. For what?"

"'For what?'" His wife smiled at him as he was missing something. "If you were Neal, you wouldn't have run for me?"

* * *

The next day in his office he called for Jones. Soon he stood in his doorway.

"You wanted to talk to me?"

"Yeah. Come in, close the door." Jones did and sat down in the visitor's chair.

"You remember I visited Caffrey after his escape?"

"Yeah. The Canadian 100-dollar."

Peter nodded.

"He offered his help to catch the Dutchman. In exchange for being released into my custody with a tracking anklet." Peter watched Jones for a reaction to this. Jones was not a man with his emotions on his face.

"You're considering his offer." No need to ask, just stating a fact.

"I am," Peter admitted.

"We could use some help with the Dutchman." Jones was right and Peter nodded. "Do you trust Caffrey?"

Trust was a complicated question.

"We'll see. What I want to know is if you can trust me with the trust-issues concerning Caffrey? Will you trust my judgment?"

"Yes. Absolutely." Jones was ex-military, used to trust his officers and not question them.

"If you have any issues concerning Caffrey, or me, will you take them up with me?"

"I will."

"Thank you."

Jones nodded and left. Peter rose and walked to the office next door, to his boss Hughes. Reese Hughes was close to seventy years old and tough as a nail. He was still in the bureau because they wanted him there.

"What's on your mind, Burke?"

"Caffrey."

"What about him?"

"I want to accept his offer, get his help on the Dutchman."

"And then?"

"If he proves to be an asset, I want him to serve the rest of his sentence with me."

Hughes kept his eyes on Peter while he considered what had been said.

"What kind of radius are you thinking of?"

"Two miles."

"Two miles? He should be grateful for a half. Why two?"

"I was thinking... I know he wants to get out to find Kate. And, I figured, if I gave him enough freedom he could do it without feeling the need to... break the agreement. I think Neal needs to feel I have faith in him." Hughes' face was a mask. It was hard to know if he agreed or not. "I can always check his anklet."

"So you show him faith by checking his anklet?" A contradiction, yes, it was.

"If I leave him some space and tell him I'll check his anklet on a regular basis, I hope it'll be a routine he can accept."

"I approve of a trial period," he informed Peter. "But, I want you to use that period to really think about if it's a life you want for four years. It's a long time, Peter. Longer than I think is healthy for such a relationship."

Peter nodded. It was. So much could happen in four years. And he knew he had to be able to cuff Neal and put him back in prison if needed.

"Arrange a contract with our lawyers and show it to Caffrey. Make sure he understands what it means."


	10. Agreement

**Agreement**

Bobby fetched him from the workshop.

"Visitor," the guard informed him. It was not regular visiting hours and Bobby took him to the visitor's rooms, not the booths where a glass wall separated the visitor from the inmate. He saw Peter waiting for him. He was sitting at one of the tables. Bobby turned him over to the visitor's guard who did a pat-down on him before he let him through.

Neal walked in, not sure what he was expecting.

Peter placed Kate's bottle on the table and pushed it towards him. Neal frowned.

"I can't have it in here."

"I know," Peter replied with a grin lurking in the corners of his mouth. Neal stared at him. Then he smiled.

"I will be released into your custody?" Neal asked. Had he got that right? He met Peter's eyes, and the agent nodded. Neal's heart raced.

"Temporarily. If you agree to the terms." Peter placed a folder beside the bottle.

"Wow," was all Neal could think of to say. "It only took you four months." He sat down.

"And a birthday card," Peter added. Neal flipped the file open. "Now read that through. Carefully. So I can answer any questions you might have. Take your time."

Neal had to take a few deep breaths to focus on the text. His idea had worked after all.

"I'll still be a prison inmate?" Neal asked after the first paragraphs. Peter nodded. "And the marshals decide if I shall be out with you or in prison?" It did not sound good. He did not want to put his fate in their hands.

"Unless you become a suspect of a crime or any of us want to leave the deal, they'll not get involved with you in person," Peter explained. "Their responsibility is your tracking anklet. It's just the way it works with these kinds of deals."

Neal read on. Peter, or one of his appointed associates, had the right to perform pat-downs on him and had the right to search his living quarters.

"No strip-searches?"

Peter shook his head.

"If I feel such is needed it has gone too far and you ought to be back in prison." Peter sent him a wide grin and Neal returned it. So far it was not worse than his current living conditions.

"You've got a pen?" he asked Peter.

"No." Peter shook his head. "No, you're not signing now."

"Why not?"

"Because I know you're impulsive and I need to give you a fair chance to think this over."

"Peter, it was my idea."

"Yeah" Peter agreed. "But now it's for real. And I need you to think about if this is a life you want. I'll more or less own you and your time. I will check where you've been when we're not together. And it is only temporarily, remember? Will you be prepared to go back to prison after a few months? I want you to think, Neal."

"Okay." He could sleep on it and sign tomorrow if it made Peter happy.

"And Neal…" Peter locked his eyes with his. "If you want out only to find Kate, this will not work and you'll be back inside within a week. You have to have a genuine interest in catching the Dutchman or solving any other case I hand to you."

Neal was vain enough to want to prove himself smarter than the Dutchman and he definitely wanted to keep his three years record. It would not be a problem to help the FBI.

"I told you, I'll help you catch him."

"Alright. There're two identical copies of the contract in there. They're signed by me and my boss. If you decide to go for this, all that is needed is your signature. You keep one copy for yourself and give the other to the warden and he gets the machinery started with the marshals."

* * *

The gate slid open so slowly Neal was tempted to squeeze himself through. At last the opening was wide enough for him to step out with dignity. They sky did appear bluer on this side of the wall. He smiled at Peter waiting by his car.

"Let me see it."

Neal hitched up his left leg of his pants and showed Peter the anklet. It was a gray lump with the size of a fist. "You understand how this works?" He had read the deal twice and signed it. What more was there to it?

"I'm being released into the custody of the FBI, under your supervision, and this thing chaffs my leg. Anything I'm missing?" It was loose enough for him to be able to get a sock on but it also meant it moved around, like a watch on your arm.

"Yeah, if you run, and I catch you, which you know I will because I'm 2 and 0, you're not back here for four years, you're back here for good." Neal nodded. "You're going to be tempted to look for Kate. Don't."

"I told you: the bottle meant good-bye," Neal pointed out.

"Then leave it at that." Neal wondered if Peter was aware he was not. "This is a temporary situation. Help me catch the Dutchman, we can make it permanent."

'Can make' not 'will'. No promises made. Neal was aware of that too. If this was about to be a short trip they would not be able to blame him for it. He would do his job. Peter nodded for him to get inside the car.

"Any questions?" his new handler asked.

"Only one." Neal stopped before entering the car. "Why are you really doing this?" He watched Peter who did not seem to eager to reply.

"My wife thinks you're a romantic," Peter sighed and got inside. That was a reason that did not make any sense, Neal thought.

He took a few deep breaths and sat down beside Peter on the passenger's seat. He was actually sitting beside Peter Burke. Not cuffed and not in the backseat, but beside him, free to move.

"Where are we heading?" Neal dared to ask after a while.

"Your new home," Peter replied. "Work starts tomorrow."

* * *

Peter crossed the lobby of a shabby hotel. The guy in the reception did not seem to care too much about his first impression.

"This is Neal Caffrey. My office called earlier." When he turned to Neal he saw the discomfort in the kid's face. Of course, he did not like this place.

The man on the other side of the counter took a key and held it out to Neal.

"There you go, Snake Eyes." 'Snake Eyes'? That was a new one.

"Thank you." Neal smiled, took the key and turned to Peter and whispered: "Can I talk to you for a second?" and took a few steps away from the counter. Peter followed. "Maybe a little farther down?" the kid suggested as they had stopped near an old man with a distinct smell of bear. Peter sighed about Neal's need to be discreet. He was not the only former prison inmate in this place. Neal could finally address his issue: "Do I have to stay here?" he whispered. Peter sighed.

"Cowboy up." Neal's eyes darted around the lobby to see who heard. Peter did not care. "All right, it costs seven-hundred a month to house you on the inside, so that's what it costs here. For the money, this is as good as it gets. You find something better, take it."

"What about clothes? I'm wearing my entire wardrobe."

It was not exactly FBI standard outfit and he would have Neal following him around. Neal had a point, but Peter was not up to indulging Neal's need for proper clothes at the moment. That had to be taken care of some other day.

"You like thrift stores? There's one at the end of the block." Neal opened his mouth but Peter was not interested. "No, don't start, no, no protests. This is what you wanted, isn't it? Look at it, it's not-" Peter waved towards a woman in the lobby. "Oh, look at her, you don't get that in prison, do you? No, not at all." He got to show this kid what this deal meant and who was in charge. "Listen, your tracking anklet is set up so you can go anywhere within two miles of this place. Here's your homework."

He handed Neal a large file. It was a copy of the Dutchman file. Neal could always do his best to impress him tomorrow by spending the evening memorizing data.

"Remember, two miles. I'll see you at 7 AM."


	11. June

**June**

Neal took the file to his room. It was gloomy and it smelled of cigarette smoke. A dog walked on its own in the corridor. He was not sure what he had expected to get. As usual he had been too blinded by it all to think of practical stuff. Well, there was always another way. And this did not mean he had to stay here for good.

Maybe this was Peter testing him. He put the file on the small desk and left for a walk. It was not without it felt strange. He knew the anklet was not visible but it felt like he was dragging an old-fashioned iron ball behind him. Still he could move as it pleased him. Though he knew someone could check it up where he had been. It was an odd form of half-freedom. He would have to get used to it. It was better than the alternative. It also meant he would work with Peter which he looked forward to. And Kate could be within his reach.

Neal browsed through the thrift store's mediocre supply of men's clothing. He had a minimal supply of cash and he needed at least two shirts and a pair of pants. Not to mention underwear. He could not wait until next month to get money enough for his first pair of socks.

"I've come to donate these." A deep, melodic voice caught his attention. He turned and saw a classy elderly woman leave two packages on the counter, suit-sized dust-covers.

"Men's suits?" The woman behind the counter asked. And the elderly woman agreed. Neal moved closer. The covers were opened and a hat and a suit were unpacked. Neal adored what he saw.

"Those are fantastic." The donator of the suits turned and beamed at him.

"Oh. They belonged to my late husband, Byron. He really did have great taste in clothes."

"May I?" Neal asked the young woman unpacking the suits. She handed him the jacket. "Thank you." He saw the brand. "This is a Devore!" He stared at the old woman. It was the wrong part of town for a Devore. The lady appeared wealthy but considering where she was he had presumed it was just for show.

"Yes. He won it from Sy himself."

"Won it?"

"He beat him at a backdoor draw."

"What? Your husband played poker with Sy Devore?" It felt as he traveled back in time with the woman to her youth, to the 50th. A time of Humphrey Bogart, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin.

"He certainly did. And so did I."

"No." Not that he did not believe her. It was just so amazing to meet a woman who had met the man who tailored the best suits in the world. Sy Devore in turn had met Sinatra and Dean Martin and all the others in the rat pack gang. It was as if this wonderful lady could give him a part of the period in time he wished he had grown up in.

"Yes. The guys would even let me sit in once in a while on a hand. And I was good." Neal put on the blue fedora packed with one of the suits. He loved it. It felt as if the last four years were gone. "I'm glad to see you appreciate these. I was hoping someone would. I've got a whole closet full of them."

"A whole closet?" Now she was more than a sweet meeting.

"Mm-hm. Well, actually, it's a guest room but I haven't used it for anything except storage for years." Neal put a light blue suit jacket on. Her eyes glimmered when she saw him. "Oh, Byron used to wear that one whenever we went dancing. The neighborhood was- Let's say it was much nicer then."

"Do you live nearby?" Neal asked, hoping the friendly face in front of him would not turn suspicious or hostile. The woman's eyes studied him.

"It's not far." Though he had always been confident of his charm and ability to make a perfect impression if he wanted to, he now had to search for the right words to say. If this came off right, he would live in this woman's home for the next four years, and he wanted to do it right from the start.

"I'm June." She held out her hand. He took it.

"Neal." First names to break the ice, but only first names to not give away too much. A caucus lady. And rightfully so.

"I believe" she continued "that you want to ask me about the guest room I just mentioned." Neal beamed. This woman was direct and unafraid. And she also read him like an open book. Since he had nothing he wanted to hide, it made things easier.

"Yes. Yes, I was."

"And don't you just look glorious in that suit." He felt at least an inch taller. June turned to the woman behind the counter. "I donated that, so it's yours. But I would like to repurchase it. And the hat." Neal's eyes met the woman's, and she blushed and turned her head away. She had been staring at him.

"Well…" she said, uncertain. "I haven't accepted these yet, and they are not tagged with a price, so if you want them back, they are yours, ma'am."

"Did you hear that, Neal? Go and put that whole suit on and we'll go and see if Byron had any shirts in your size."

* * *

Outside the store, Neal halted June. She gave him a puzzled look when he did not explain why he stopped. He felt that whatever he said would ruin it. He wanted so much to be honest with her, but straight truths had never been his way to handle things. He knew he had to work on that to have a functional relationship with Peter and keep the deal, but this was his first day out. Finally, he just pulled up the left leg of his new pants and showed June the anklet.

When he knew she had seen what she had to see, he dropped the pants back, covering the hideous thing. June studied his face.

"You know what?" she beamed at him. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Neal relaxed and smiled. Since she had taken Bogart's famous line from Casablanca he imitated Captain Renault, the other part of the beautiful friendship, instead:

"I'm shocked! Shocked to find that gambling is going on in here."

June laughed.

"There is more of a Bogart in you, darling."

He pulled at his fedora hat.

"Here's looking at you, kid." It was a harmless flirt of appreciation. June did not seem to mind. They continued to walk towards June's home.

He needed to know for sure she knew who she was dealing with.

"I'm a criminal. Doesn't it bother you?"

"Not at all. And that thing on your leg proves that someone trusts you enough to be out on the streets. I'm June Ellington, by the way."

He wanted to give her one big friendly hug but resisted the temptation.

"Neal Caffrey."

"So tell me, what did they catch you on?" A curious question, like she had asked about his high school sweetheart.

"Bond forgery."

She nodded as if she approved. Bonds were old school, compared to hacking computers, and this was an elderly lady.

"Were you any good?"

"It took them over a year before they had a photo of me," Neal answered with pride. "And another three years before they finally caught me."

"And during these three years, all you did was forging bonds?" Her smile told her she was confident there were much more to the story.

"It was all they could prove." He grinned back at her.

"Then you must be good. So tell me, who is your guardian angel?"

"Special Agent Peter Burke."

"And your relationship to him?"

"Peter is the guy who caught me and sent me to prison."

June glanced at him.

"That must be an interesting story."

"How I got arrested?"

"How you came to be on a first name basis with the agent that caught you," she clarified. "And how the same man accepts the responsibility for you now."

Neal nodded. It was. But he was not sure if he could put what happened between him and Peter in words.

"So how long do you have left on your sentence?" She spoke of this with such ease.

"Four years."

June raised her eyebrows.

"Then you can't have been in prison for long."

"Four years."

"Are you telling me you got eight years for bond forgery?" For the first time, her voice rang of mistrust. Neal did not blame her. No one got eight years for something like that.

"No, I got four years. When I escaped, I got another four."

"Ohh, not a good move."

"It felt like the only move for the one and a half month it took me to get out," Neal admitted. "Then Peter found me after less than twelve hours and brought me back. Then Peter turned down my offer to help him with a case. Then I got to spend a month in solitary for the escape."

"Then you realized it had not been a good move?"

"Something like that." It had not been as much that he regretted the escape as such as the fact that Kate was gone, and it was no way he could find her from within prison. She had said goodbye to him, but he desperately needed to hear it from her, to talk to her, to touch her one final time. He could keep his ears to the ground and learn about the Dutchman, about new security, technical developments, and fashion, but he could not search and find someone who did not want to be found. Kate knew how to disappear. She had done it before.

"Here is where I live," June gestured up the stairs to a white, luxury residence. She opened the doors to a living room large enough to host a dining room table for at least eight people and a grand piano and sofas to that and still it did not appear cluttered. "The guest-room is upstairs."

When June opened the door to her guest room, his heart sank. It was not a guest room. It was a whole apartment. Small, but still a residence. June pointed at a door at the other end of the room.

"Bathroom, walk-in-closet over there. And a small bedroom, but I guess you prefer to sleep in here, in that one." She pointed at the double bed.

And the view. What a view! This could be Heaven. But it never would.

"What is it?" She searched his face for an answer. His despair must have shone through.

"I... I can't pay for this. I…"

"I know you've limited resources, darling," she assured him.

But they were more than limited. She was a wealthy woman. Her idea of 'limited' would not likely be the same as his reality.

"Where are you staying now?"

"The hotel in the corner two blocks from where we met."

"That dreadful place? And how much do the FBI pay for that?"

"Seven-hundred a month."

"It's a deal then," June stated with certainty. "Neal, just for the record, this apartment was yours when I saw that look on your face when you stepped in here. Even if you couldn't pay me a penny."

This time Neal could not help it. He hugged June. And she hugged him back.

* * *

Peter sipped from his coffee when he walked inside the lobby of Neal's hotel. He had to pick the kid up. Neal did not have a car, or a valid driver's license for that matter. It would take extra time every morning and leave him off again in the afternoon. Peter thought he could get used to it. White Collar crimes were rarely in such hurry that this detour would be costly. In that case Neal just had to stay put and wait.

"Hey. I'm here for Caffrey. Room 11."

The man behind the counter flipped a Rubic's cube in his hands without much progress since last night.

"Oh, yeah, yeah. Old Snake Eyes. A nice guy." He turned and pulled something from the board behind him. "Left you a note."

Peter stared at the man and then unfolded the paper. It read 'Dear Peter, I have moved 1.6 miles', and an address. It was signed 'XOXO Neal'. 'Hugs and kisses'. Very funny. He left and got into his car.

Two minutes later he stared at the house at the address. He got out of the car.

"You've gotta be kidding me." What kind of game was Neal playing now? He walked up to the door and rung the bell. A maid opened.

"Good day," he was greeted and as any expected guest let inside.

"Thank you. I think I have the wrong address."

Like a noble lady from an old movie a woman approached with a little lapdog.

"You must be Peter."

He blinked. What had happened to the world during the night while he slept? What kind of rabbit hole had Neal found and thrown him into?

"I'm looking for Neal Caffrey." He pronounced the name carefully as if someone who knew his name was Peter would not know the name of the man who told her. The woman smiled and winked at him.

"He's upstairs."

She walked ahead of him, knocked on a door and opened it. Peter followed her inside. A whole wall was of glass with a view over New York.

"He's out on the balcony. I'll just get my coffee." She left and Peter continued out.

"Whoa!" He had defiantly been thrown down into Alice in Wonderland.

"You're early."

He turned his head and saw Neal sit with a newspaper in silk pajamas and an equally exclusive robe. What was left of his breakfast was on the table in front of him. All on fine china.

"We're shaking a lead at the airport. We got a hit on Snow White."

"'Snow White'" Neal repeated. "A phrase you decoded from a suspected Dutchman communique to Barcelona." He pattered the Dutchman folder on the table to indicate that he had done his homework.

"You moved."

"It's nicer than the other place, don't you think?"

That was an understatement.

"Yeah. I don't remember the other place having a view."

"I went to the thrift store like you suggested. And June- "

"Lady with the dog? We met."

"-was donating her late husband's clothes. We hit it off. She had an extra guest room. You said if I found a nicer place for the same price, I should take it."

"I did say that. All this for 700?" Seven thousand was a more likely price. What had he done to find this place? Neal Caffrey was a felon, a crook, a bad guy.

"Yep. But I help out around the place."

"Oh, sure. Feed the dog."

"Yeah, wash the Jag. Watch her granddaughter from time to time."

"She's got you babysitting? How's it going?" Peter would have to have a talk with this June.

"Morning, Neal." A soft woman's voice and a young, slender supermodel passed him and took a chair in the sun with a look at Peter as if he was the one searching through a thrift store.

"Granddaughter?" Peter stared at Neal who smiled in return.

"She's an art student."

"Unbelievable. Go get dressed." At least Neal did as he was told and disappeared inside without argument.

Peter saw the breakfast table was set for two and the second seat was unused.

"You mind?" he asked the young goddess. She smiled and made an inviting gesture. He took a bite from a bread. It was home baked, he was sure of it. It was still a bit warm and tasted marvelous.

"Hey, Grandma," the young woman smiled whoever arrived behind him.

"Good morning, Cindy." June sat down on Neal's empty chair and served him coffee. Peter tasted.

"It's perfect. Even the freaking coffee is perfect." June laughed. "That's not jewelry on his ankle, you know. He's a felon." He hoped to break whatever illusion Neal had given this lady. He got a sly smile in return.

"So was Byron." He stared, not getting it. "My late husband." Why did he feel he should not be surprised?

"Pardon me for asking, but what has Neal told you?"

"You caught him for bond-forging four years ago. He escaped prison and you put him back. Now he's serving the rest of his sentence in your custody." It appeared as if Neal had been honest, he had to give him credit for that. "I hope to hear that story one day."

Peter nodded. A story worthy of a novel.

"So far it's only temporary" Peter added to the picture. "So you're okay with seven hundred a month to keep a convicted felon still in custody in your home?"

"As long as it's Neal," June assured him.

"I'll have the paperwork sent over." Peter rose. "Nice to meet you and thank you for the coffee."

"Take good care of him, Peter."

Neal seemed to take care of himself pretty well without his help. Too well.

"I'll try."


	12. At the airport

**At the Airport**

When Neal came down the stairs Peter was waiting by the front door. June's late husband's wardrobe was a dream. Neal was dressed in suit and hat like he walked right out from a movie from the 60th.

"You look like a cartoon" Peter remarked. Neal snorted. When it came to clothes Peter did not have a clue. All he saw was a suit outside of the standard grid. Guess he should be happy Peter saw anything but just another suit.

"This is classic Rat Pack. This is a Devore." The slim cut, the narrow tie, the fedora hat with its narrow brim. He played with it.

"Oh, sorry, Dino. Will you stop with the hat?" Neal grinned at him. "Come on. Let's go."

"You're upset." Neal knew he stated the obvious. He also knew why. "Sour grapes" he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Look, you tell me which rule I broke, and I will thumb it back to prison myself."

"For starters" Peter began as if Neal had actually done something wrong. But Peter had nothing on the list. It was empty and both of them knew it. Peter was not going to let it go.

"I work hard. I do my job well. And I don't have a 10-million-dollar view of Manhattan that I share with a 22-year-old art student while we sip espresso!"

"Why not?" Neal asked.

"Why not? Because I'm not supposed to. The amount of work I do equals certain things in the real world. Not cappuccino in the clouds."

That's why I got the winning ticket and not you, Peter, Neal thought. You don't get more than you aim for.

"I will find out where June buys her coffee-"

"It's not about the coffee."

"I think it is."

"No, it's not. This is what gets you into trouble. This is the start of those something-for-nothing schemes that lead to the frauds that got you locked up."

So he should have stayed in that smelly hotel to not get into trouble? He got caught because he could not stay away from Kate.

"I think it's some sort of Italian roast."

"Get in the car." It was something in Peter's tone. Besides, an order from Peter was an order.

"Okay."

* * *

Peter had a hard time fighting the jealousy. He had bought an expensive cup of shitty coffee on his way to pick up Neal just to find him drinking perfect coffee with a view over Manhattan. It was not as it was supposed to be. Not in his world. What had he thought would happen when he adopted a felon like Neal?

Peter collected his thoughts. Neal had been lucky and he should be happy for this. If it kept the kid from breaking any laws, fine. He stepped into the car beside Neal.

"Alright," he said as he started a new chapter of his day. As he drove he felt Neal's eyes upon him.

"We're going to the airport, right?"

"Yeah. They got a guy in custody on our request."

Neal sank back into the seat, relaxing.

"Where did you think we were going?"

"I don't know. Prison maybe."

Peter sent Neal a stare. Was this what Neal's world was like among the clouds? Always prepared for the worst?

"Neal, I'm not putting you back in prison just because you get better coffee than me."

"Thanks."

"Don't get me wrong, Caffrey, I will send you back if I have to, but I'll not do so on a whim, you got that? I'll give this collaboration a fair chance and that means you're allowed to make mistakes within reason. We both are. Don't be afraid to ask. And if you think I do something wrong tell me so, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks."

"Relax."

* * *

They arrived at JFK airport and walked inside. Neal noted a beautiful, slender woman pinpointing them and approached.

"Who's that?"

"That's Diana." Peter informed him. "Diana's my probie."

"Probie?"

"Probationary agent. She does everything I don't. She's very good at her job. And she can do it way better than you."

She stopped in front of them greeted Peter and inspected Neal.

"You must be Neal Caffrey." She beamed at him and Neal returned it. "Nice hat."

Wow. Would he work closely with this stunning woman?

"What have we got?" Peter was focused on the work, as always.

"His name's Tony Field," Diana informed him as she handed Peter a file. "Customs flagged him coming from Spain in response to our Snow White BOLO."

"Customs playing nice?"

"The usual chest pounding," she said with a shrug. "He's in their custody, not ours."

"Less paperwork for me. What's he carrying?"

"You're gonna love this." Diana grinned.

She took them to the customs and their office. In a room with many tables, probably meant for unpacking bags, were three identical suitcases. They were open and filled with books. All the books appeared to be the same.

"'Blanca Nieves y lost siete enanitos'," Peter read.

"Snow White and Her Seven Little Men," Neal translated. It was a child's book. Big, thin, and illustrated. And the suitcases contained at least a thirty of them each. Peter seemed as stunned as he.

"This is what triggered our alert? What do we know about this guy?"

"Says he's a rare-book dealer," Diana said. If he could buy this many of them, they could not be rare, could they, Neal thought.

"Anything wrong with his paperwork?" Peter asked.

"Nope. He brought in the same books and the same quantity on three previous trips."

"All right, Dino," Peter turned to him. "Are we wasting our time?"

Neal was mystified and intrigued.

"They're not limited runs or special editions. Can't be worth much." Someone bought bunches of a cheap children's book. Why? Something that needed quantity.

"Why go to all the trouble of flying them in?" Valid point. The dealer had bought them in Spain. Why?

"Good question," Diana agreed. "He is nervous for having all the right paperwork."

"I wanna talk to him," Peter told Diana who nodded.

"I'll set it up. I'm grabbing some coffee. You want some?"

"Yeah. Anything but decaf."

"Diana, I'll take mine straight," Neal beamed at her.

"Neal, the coffee shop's outside."

He had not expected any less. He grinned.

"You are way out of your league," Peter told him.

"Oh, harmless flirting. It's like a dance."

"No, there is no dance. You're not even on her dance card. No dancing for you."

Was she married? He had not noted a ring. Besides, it was a just flirt.

"She digs the hat," Neal pointed out.

"She'd rather be wearing the hat," Peter said it in a tone as if Neal was missing something vital. Diana returned with Peter's coffee and they left to get a chat with the book dealer.

"No, you wait here," he instructed Neal before they got inside. "Diana, keep an eye on him."

They looked at each other as Peter disappeared into the Custom's interview room.

"I'm not going anywhere" Neal ensured Diana and hitched up the leg on his pants, indicating the anklet.

"Good. I'm gonna check the going rate for that book."

Neal watched her leave and enjoyed what he saw. Pity, it would not be more than that. Lucky women, if they saw the same thing as he did.

* * *

"Peter Burke, FBI." He flashed the badge to Tony Field, the man sitting alone by the end of a desk.

"FBI? They're really kicking it up a notch." A nervous smile.

"So you're a book dealer?" Peter leaned against another desk.

"Yes. Well, as I have told everyone here, repeatedly, my business is the import and sale of rare books." Tony Field produced his card and handed it to Peter.

"How rare can they be? You've got 300 of them so far."

"Would you like me to go with the crime lab? Help you dust for fingerprints?"

"Because I'm telling you how to do your job." Peter got a thin smile in reply. "So, Snow White in Spanish?"

"Snow White was not created by Disney, Detective. There are a few stories that predate Steamboat Willie."

"I'm a federal agent. And you mean folklore of the virginally pure queen like Alexander Pushkin's Tale of the White Princess and the Seven Knights? Is that what you mean?" Peter was not unfamiliar with literature. This book dealer could not fool him to believe those books were rare. "What are the books for?"

The door flung open and a bulky man with an attache case entered.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk to my client. Constitution and all."

A lawyer? No one told him Field had asked for a lawyer. Peter rose.

"Were you chasing the ambulance or they give you a ride? Huh?" he asked the lawyer. No one prevented him to speak to him at least. "You must've thumbed it." He was angry, but it was not the lawyer's fault. He clenched his jaws and left. He met up with Caffrey outside. Diana spoke to a woman in a customs uniform further away.

"No dance, huh?" Neal watched the two women.

"Not for you." Gee, was this kid so used to charm women that this was a bid deal for him?

"Thought the FBI had a policy."

"That's the military. We don't ask. We don't care." Why should anybody care, Peter had always wondered. Love happened as it happened. "Where's the customs inspector?"

Diana returned to them.

"Neal's right. The books aren't worth much. You can pick them up for a few dollars on eBay."

Peter saw the customs inspector and marched away to him.

"Hey, why didn't you tell me the guy lawyered up? The second he makes that call, I can't talk to him." Even the customs should know this. And goddamn know to tell the FBI about it! He was no mind-reader! The inspector frowned.

"He didn't call anybody."

"Then how did his lawyer know that-?" Peter's fury shifted to terror as a horrible thought crossed his mind and he ran back to the interview room with the inspector, Neal, and Diana on his tail.

Tony Field had fallen across the desk with a syringe probing out of his neck. Peter pulled at the man's shoulder. Dead. The inspector was not as sure and called for medics over the radio. Well, good luck with that.

"Nobody frisked the lawyer? God!" Now the Dutchman proved he was ready to kill people too.

It took Peter a few minutes to realize Neal was no longer in the room. He was certain the kid had followed him and Diana in here. Peter left the interview room and looked around. Neal was standing by a wall in a quiet part of the wide office.

"What are you doing?" Peter barked. "You can't just run away like that."

"As you can see, I'm not running" Neal said. "I'm waiting for you."

"Yeah, sure." Peter was still upset. "You left. Why?"

"How about to have a quiet place where I could pick my anklet and leave on a plane?" Neal returned.

Peter stared at him.

"No. No, I'm not having this."

"Having what?"

"Neal, this is not an interrogation. You're not a suspect. I'm not having your avoiding, slippery answers to every question. What happened in there? Was it the dead guy? The needle? Too little space?"

Peter glared at Neal when he did not reply. Neal seemed uncomfortable. Peter took a deep breath and changed his approach.

"I'm not trying to set you up, Neal. We're working together. I need to know what doesn't work for you, what makes you leave a room like that. Just as I know what Jones or Diana want to avoid."

Peter put a hand on Neal's shoulder and tried to look him in the eyes, though the kid avoided it.

"Neal?"

"I'm just not a fan of dead bodies, that's all."

"I don't blame you. Well, we're working on a white collar unit. We don't face dead bodies every day. And you got one on your first day and without warning. I'm sorry. I'll try to give you a heads up next time, okay? And if you feel the need to leave, just tell me, okay?"

"Okay."

Neal seemed stunned in a way that surprised Peter. Neal had another background than an FBI agent. In their training, they had actively searched for situations that caused them trouble, physically or mentally. Neal probably had too in his own way, but in his world, he probably did not share this knowledge. An FBI agent worthy of the badge did not thrive in another agent's weak spots. Crooks probably did. Had Neal expected Peter to use his confession about dead bodies against him? There was a lot to learn for both of them.

* * *

Neal pondered over one of the countless books.

"Got a dead book dealer, a killer lawyer, and a bunch of worthless books," Peter concluded the situation. "All right, come on." Peter turned to Neal. "As a reformed professional counterfeiter, what is the Dutchman's interest in these?"

Neal stared at first page.

"Published 1944 in Madrid," he mumbled and the pieces fell in place. Quantity. A particular year. "This is what he's after."

"The top sheet?"

"More than that. This is a piece of 1944 Spanish press parchment. That's what he wanted." Neal used a ruler to cut the paper lose from the cover and the binding.

"Good. This is good." Peter was excited as he took the sheet. "He's gonna counterfeit something originally printed on paper like that."

"That's what I would do," Neal agreed.

"Tony made three prior shipments with these," Peter said.

"Two blank pages per book is 600 sheets," Neal noted. Three tours, a hundred books each.

"Too many for paintings, not enough for currency."

Peter was right there. Neal loved how fast Peter's mind worked. How had it taken this smart agent so long to catch him?

"I'll bet our dead book dealer knew. Diana, where's that wallet?"

"It's right here." Diana handed Peter a wallet and he opened it scanning through its contents. He pulled out a picket and showed them.

"This is where he went before he left for Spain." The National Archives. "Neal, let's go!"


	13. The Victory Bond

**The Victory Bond**

Neal had never been more eager to follow Peter. The National Archives was one of his favorite places in the world. And as it was in Washington D.C. it was way out of his radius and much further than he ever thought he would get with Peter.

It was a little over a four-hour drive. They would be there by two.

"It's going to be late before we get back" Neal noted. He would not get much time among those bookshelves.

"You're right" Peter nodded. "Better make sure we get a head start when we are there. Call Diana." Neal had time to wonder how he was supposed to do that when he had no access to a cell phone until he realized Peter was talking to his phone in the hands-free holder.

Diana answered and Peter gave instructions for her to call The National Archives and explaining the situation to them so they were prepared when they arrived. Then they sat in silence. Neal was full of excitement.

"Ever been to the National Archives?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, of course, I have. As often as I had the chance." Of Peter's look he added: "No, I didn't steal anything. Or counterfeit anything. Is it so hard to believe that I genuinely love to be among historical documents just because they represent our history?"

"I don't know" Peter admitted.

"Peter, there's little worth of stealing in there. It's not like art. They have priceless items, but they are also hard to sell. It's nothing you buy for show-offs. The Dutchman has probably found something to counterfeit in there, but I don't know what it can be."

"Perhaps. You like a challenge though."

Neal laughed. Not out of happiness but because of frustration.

"At the airport, you said you didn't try to set me up, that it was no interrogation. What do you call this?"

Peter sent him a glance.

"It's not uncomplicated, this arrangement."

Neal grinned to Peter's comment.

"No. It's not."

"Neal, can you trust me when I say I have no intention to set you up so I can put you away for more crimes?"

"I hope so."

"Then see it from my point of view: I don't want to put you in a position you can't handle. I don't want you to commit a crime because of a situation I placed you in."

Wow. That was a point of view Neal had not considered.

"I can handle temptations."

"Forgive me for not trusting you on that statement. You've not been tempted for four years and you're known to be impulsive."

"Com'on, Peter!"

"I have a responsibility here, you know. The better I know you, the easier this will be for both of us. I can't just presume that one of the world's greatest con-men is reformed just like that."

"Maybe I just forged some bonds and learned my lesson?" He smiled and Peter returned it.

"If that was all you did, you wouldn't have had a clue what that red strip was and you wouldn't be sitting here. Can we just stop pretending? Unless you outright confess to one of those crimes, I don't care, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

"Yes, I do remember him," the librarian who had met them said. "An odd sort of man. He came by several months ago, and then again last week. This is what he came to see." The librarian placed the tray he had been carrying on the table. "The Spanish Victory Bond." Peter and Neal leaned closer to see it. It was a beautiful work with a detailed frame and a colorful image on the top half. When Peter saw Neal putting on the white cotton gloves used to deal with old items, he stepped aside.

"He took several photographs of it," the librarian continued. "Said he was gonna write a book. It's a shame he's dead. This bond does have a fascinating history."

"It's a Goya," Neal noted about the image decorating the bond.

"Yes. Beautiful, isn't it?" the librarian smiled, happy to share his passion with them. Peter brought out one of the blank papers from the books. He unfolded it and placed it over the bond.

"Oh, look at that. A perfect fit. You're starting to earn your 700 a month." He had meant that as an encouraging complement. To his surprise Neal's focus had already passed the fit of the paper. He was on to something. Peter once again let the kid take the lead.

"You said it had a fascinating history," Neal turned to the librarian.

"Quite. It was issued during the war."

"1944?"

"Yes. The U.S. issued it to support the Spanish Underground in their battle against the Axis. Very few have ever been redeemed. There's speculation that entire boxes were captured. Many are still hidden away in the caves of Altamira."

"Whole boxes of these?"

"Yeah," the librarian confirmed and turned to Peter. "Boy, that would be something, wouldn't it? This is the only surviving copy."

"Except it's a forgery," Neal stated and turned to them. Peter was agape.

"No," the librarian shook his head. "That's not possible."

"What are you talking about?" Peter wanted to know.

"It's the ink. This is iron-gall dye mixed to match period colors. It hasn't dried yet. You can still smell the gum arabic." Neal held it up to them. It did smell something, but Peter was not acquainted enough with old printing methods to know what it was supposed to smell.

"No. This has been here since 1952," the poor librarian insisted.

"It's been here less than a week" Neal assured them with an apologetic smile to the devastated librarian. Peter felt as if he stabbed the man when he said he had to take the forged bond with him.

* * *

Peter and Neal stepped out of the car in the FBI's garage. Neal was at first unable to move. It felt as if he had been shuffled back in time. It was four years since he got out of a car in handcuffs in this very garage. He watched Peter stride off towards the elevators. He turned when he realized Neal was not with him.

"Neal?"

Neal covered up with a grin and caught up with Peter. He paused on the last step of the stairs. He had stumbled on it. Stairs and handcuffs did not work well. He had experienced the same later in prison. You were dependent on your arms for balance. He saw Peter smile. Did he remember too? They got to the elevator.

"Is agent Jones still around?" Neal asked. He had been at his arrest with Peter. Even if he held no grudge against the agent, it was one who had been there and seen him scared. Peter nodded.

"Is it a problem?" his handler wanted to know.

"I don't know. What does he think of this arrangement?"

Peter grinned.

"That you'll be back in prison within the next month or so. I hope you prove him wrong." The elevator arrived, and they stepped inside.

It was the same elevator. Here he had stood with his hands locked on his back with Peter on one side and Jones on the other, on his way into the unknown. He had been scared then. Both must have felt him shiver. Then Peter had interrogated him for hours. It had weirdly been fun. When Peter had taken him down the elevator again, it had been far less terrifying than going up.

Now he, once again, was on his way up to an unknown fate. This time he was not scared though.

"Nervous?" Peter asked. Neal realized he had been fiddling with his hat in his hands. It was so easy to drop your guard with this man.

"Look Neal, everybody in the office know who you are and your situation. I'm not going to be discreet about it, just treat it as something normal. Some will probably stare and make comments, but those things will settle soon enough. You're a part of my team and shall be treated as such. If anybody doesn't, let me know, okay?"

"Yeah." Neal was pretty sure he would not be treated as a reliable member of the team at all. He understood why Peter had done what he had done. He had prevented Neal from telling lies and keeping secrets. Which also gave him a worst possible start. He merely had to prove he was to be trusted.

The elevator door opened and they stepped out. Peter swung the doors to the office open, and Neal followed. It was late. There were not many agents still there. And all three stood in one place.

Peter walked up to them.

"Neal, this is Hughes, my boss."

The old man glared at him.

"Caffrey" he greeted without extending his hand.

"Sir" Neal beamed back.

"Good luck, Peter," Hughes snorted and returned to his room and closed the door.

Jones smiled and stretched out his hand.

"Welcome to the FBI, once again, Caffrey."

Neal grinned, with no intention to let any comments hurt him.

"Thank you, Jones." If he was a part of the team, no way he was going to call him 'agent Jones'. Jones did not seem to mind.

"You already know Diana," Peter said. They exchanged hellos.

"That's my room beside Hughes," his handler pointed. "And your desk is over here." Peter walked back toward the doors.

"I get a desk?" Neal had never considered how his time at the office would be like.

"Yeah, it's got drawers and everything." Peter grinned and put his hand on the desk closest to the door. It was set sideways, compared to the others. Neal rounded it and put his hat on it. A desk of is own. Neal felt oddly proud.

"Smart thinking, Peter," he grinned.

"What?"

"Placing it sideways. Can't hide anything from you, can I?" He pointed out the straight line from Peter's office to his desk. If Peter could be natural about having a convicted felon on the team, so could he. His three team-mates smiled.

"Here is how it works, Neal. When you work, you're with me or at your desk. I let the marshals know when you're working and when you leave. Don't worry; I won't let you go unless you're within your radius. Jones and I have access to your tracking data, and we have the right to check it without cause, got that? And I _will_ check on you."

Neal nodded. He had not had time to think about it much yet. All he had walked on his own so far was from the hotel to the thrift store and then to June, and then back to the hotel to get the files Peter had handed over.

"Peter, about the radius."

"Yes?"

"Will it be based on June's place or the hotel?"

"I'll make sure the marshals update their data with June's address" Peter assured him.

"Thanks."

"Caffrey moved?" Jones asked Peter.

"Don't ask" Peter returned. Neal could hear he was still upset by the deal. Even if it was completely legal and Neal had done nothing but admiring the suits June donated. "Let's get back to work and catch the Dutchman. Conference room, everybody." Neal grabbed a rubber-band ball someone left on his desk.

Once there, Peter placed the false victory bond on the table.

"Neal, update Jones and Diana about what we found in the National Archives."

He had not seen that coming.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you" Peter nodded. "It was you who found out it was a forgery." Peter gave him credit in front of the team. It was a start.

"Alright. 1944 the U.S. issued these bonds to support the Spanish Underground. Few were redeemed and since 1952 one has been stored in the National Archive. Today it's the only known surviving copy, though there are stories about hidden boxes of these in Spain. The original disappeared less than a week ago and was replaced by this."

"1944? Same year as those books were printed, right?" Jones asked. Neal nodded and took a seat in a chair. He flung his feet up on the table. It felt like the anklet shone like a beacon, but since everyone knew about it, why treat it like an elephant in the room?

"Okay" Peter began to walk back and forth in the room. "Tony makes two trips. The first time, he takes a picture of the bond. The second trip in, he steals the original and replaces it with this copy. Can we confirm that?

"The timed ink identification test puts the age of the bond at six days, which coincides with Tony's visit," Jones said. Peter had done tests on the bond in the car out of the poor librarian's sight. Neal threw his ball in the air and caught it and ignored that the other three stood as a group by the table as if he was not there at all.

"We're pulling surveillance video to back it up" Diana added.

"Good. So the question is, why do to the trouble of making a nice forgery on the right kind of paper just to stick it back in the archives?" It was just one. The Dutchman could have 600 of them.

"Is the bond still negotiable?" Neal asked.

"It's a zero option. It never expires," Peter informed him. "What's it worth?"

"Thousand-dollar face value, drawing 9 percent interest-" Jones keyed on his calculator.

"Compounded for 64 years," Diana added.

"Two hundred and forty-eight thousand dollars," Neal gasped. They turned and stared at him.

"What he said." Jones held a calculator but their con man had been faster, Neal noted with pleasure.

"Quarter of a million, not chump change. And he's got 600 sheets of the stuff," Peter breathed. Jones and Diana both turned to him as if he was a human calculator.

"Hundred and fifty million, give or take." Neal was almost out of breath just thinking of that amount of money.

"He'd be a rich man if he could pass them off," Peter muttered. "But it still doesn't tell us why he would take out the real bond and put in a forgery." The room was silent for a moment.

"I think it does," Neal objected. "What if he claimed he found boxes of the original bonds?

"Dragged them out of those caves in Spain," Peter added to the story.

"How would they be authenticated?" Neal asked, but this was more of a rhetorical question.

"They'd be taken to the archives and compared to the original." Peter followed his line of thought.

"Which he's already switched out." Neal felt like his whole body was full of sparkling water.

"So of course they're gonna match. Oh, this is good." Peter passed behind him and caught his rubberband ball in mid air. "This is really good. All right, let's think about this."

Peter's phone on the table rang. Diana picked it up.

"It's Elizabeth." She handed it to Peter. He waved for them to get out and threw Neal the ball as he passed Peter. They left.

"Hey. Would you believe me if I said I was pulling up right in front of the house now?" Neal heard Peter say on the phone.

He strolled over to his desk and sat down. Diana took her coat and left with a quick bye. Jones made himself ready to go home as well. Neal wondered if he allowed to leave too? Was the FBI-office within his radius? He opened Google maps and searched for the addresses.

"You are within your radius," Jones informed him. "I guess that was what you wanted to know. At least based on your hotel and the marshals hasn't updated yet. In either case, you moving from here to your home will not set off the alarm."

"Thank you. The office will still be within my radius," Neal confirmed after checking.

"So what's the story with your new place?" Jones asked with a curious smile. "Burke didn't seem too happy."

"Better coffee," Neal answered with a pride grin. Jones laughed.

"It's raining. What a ride?" the agent offered.

"Thank you." Neal rose and put his hat on. Peter left the conference room.

"Neal, I'll drive you home. I'll just get my coat." Neal and Jones exchanged a look.

"Guess you should go with Burke then."

"Better not upset him. Again. Thank you anyway."

"See you." Jones smiled and left.


	14. Elisabeth

**Elisabeth**

Peter drove Neal back to June's place. It was raining and he had kept the kid at work for many hours. Only seemed fair.

"Big plans for the weekend?" Neal asked.

"Oh, you know, I gotta fix the sink. Catch a game."

"With Elizabeth?" Neal seemed perplexed. Had he never had a normal everyday life?

"Yeah. Yeah, she's into it. How cool is that? She likes to watch the Giants." He smiled.

"Uh-huh. Even on your anniversary?" Peter pushed the break all the way to the floor in the middle of traffic.

"I see this stuff coming from six months out, then I take it right in the teeth every time." And Neal not only knew about their wedding day. He remembered it too. Of course, he did.

"Relax. You still have a few days." That was an overstatement. It was Tuesday night!

"No. This is what happened last year. I said I'd make up for it with something special" Peter felt the panic settle. "Not just a corner booth at Donatella's and a romp in the sheets" he sighed.

"Skip the dinner" Neal grinned.

"Well, we've been married a decade. That doesn't cut it anymore."

"Okay, Romeo. Let's problem-solve," Neal encouraged. "What's she into?" Peter stared at him.

"Sexually?" Now it was Neal's turn to be repelled.

"Ew. No. No, existentially. What makes her feel alive?" Peter stared in front of him out in the rain. He loved his wife beyond life itself.

"I'm drawing a blank."

"How could you not know?" Neal rebuked him, upset. Sure he was, the great romantic as he was. "When you were chasing me, you knew my shoe size, what time I- "

"That's the job. Very different." Had he spent more time on this con-man than his wife? He had. But he was an FBI agent. It was his job.

"Oh, so a relationship isn't work?"

"Oh, no, no. You don't get to lecture me on relationships!" Peter flung back at Neal. "My wife didn't change her identity and flee the country to get away from me!" Peter realized what he had said and why. It was he who had forgotten their anniversary, not Neal. He became aware of cars honking. He got the car rolling again. The anger left him.

"That was harsh. I didn't mean that." Not much of excuse and Neal did not take it as such.

"Yes, you did." Neal's thoughts were far from their anniversary now. "Did she really flee the country?" Why did he have to say a far-fetch thought like that out of the blue?

"I don't know."

"France? Did she go to France?"

"I don't know. What am I gonna do?" Peter wanted his help. And wanted Neal's thoughts on other things than Kate.

"No. No more relationship advice from this side of the car. Call Dr. Phil, okay?"

"Neal..." Peter wanted to say 'please' but could not. He was this kid's handler, the guy was a felon.

"No" Neal snapped. Alright, Peter could not blame him. They were at June's. "See you tomorrow, Peter". Neal left the car without waiting for a reply.

* * *

Neal was on his way upstairs when he saw someone in the dark. A silhouette sitting by June's dining room table. He backtracked down and scooped up a walking stick from a stand. He raised it as he approached.

"I saw the best mind of my generation get run down by the drunken taxicab of absolute reality," the figure said. Neal grinned all over the face as he turned the light on.

"What the hell, Mozzie? Sitting in the dark misquoting Ginsberg?" He greeted his friend.

"The light's how they find you, man," Mozzie replied.

"Hey, you know, you can't just help yourself here. How'd you get in?"

"I used this." He raised a fist. Neal gave him a look. Mozzie was just as much non-violent as Neal himself. "I knocked. I introduced myself to June. She's great. Did you get a load of that granddaughter?"

"Thanks for coming." It felt wonderful to have Mozzie around again. He had missed him.

"What was I gonna do? Not come?" He had not visited in prison, but Neal never expected him to. Mozzie pointed at his foot. "Can I see?" Neal hoisted up his leg on the back of one of the chairs and showed him the anklet.

"Can you pick it?" If not Mozzie could, no one could.

"No way. No way." Neal sighed and took his foot down. "You flew too close to the sun, my friend. They burned your wings."

"Where's Kate, Moz? Where'd she go?"

"She's a ghost, man. She did an outstanding job of melting away."

"Well, keep looking. Check France." Peter had not said anything about it, but he said she went abroad. And then France was a likely goal.

"France?"

"I know, okay? It's probably nothing. Just look everywhere. Something else." Neal rose to get the bond out of his back pocket. "I need you to help me figure out who created this." He placed the bond on the table in front of Mozzie. His friend touched it with awe.

"It's superb. You know the worst thing about art forgery? You can't take credit for your work." Neal stared at him. No, you could not. But still, you wanted to.

* * *

Neal found himself staring at the beautiful woman who just opened the door with a cup of coffee in her hand. He had seen photos of Peter's wife, Elisabeth, but he had not been prepared to face her. Somehow, he had presumed it would be Peter to open the door.

Elisabeth stared back at him in just about the same way as he probably did at her. She too had likely seen pictures of him.

"Hi," he began, smiling. "I'm Neal Caffrey. Is Peter here?" She did not reply. Reality hit Neal as a sledgehammer: His handler's house was out of bounds. He added with a probably foolish grin: "I didn't mean to intrude. I'll wait outside."

"No, no, come on in. I was just…" She stepped aside and swung the door open. He got inside.

"I didn't mean to startle you. I'm sorry." Neal felt a bit stupid. He had hardly slept at all thinking about who the Dutchman could be. And when he figured it out, he had jumped into a cab without thinking. His anklet was probably flashing red, but he was with his handler, not fleeing.

"I'm Elisabeth." They shook hands.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"Don't you dare call me 'ma'am.'" She said it with a smile. "Peter's in the shower. So what brings you here?"

She kept her distance and Neal did not blame her. It was likely the first time she was alone with a convicted felon in her living room. He remained by the door and tried to appear as harmless as he intended to be.

"I had a breakthrough with the case I'm working on with Peter. I just wanted to come here and tell him as quickly as possible."

"Will someone run within in the next hour since it couldn't wait?"

Elisabeth was right. He had reacted on an impulse. In his world that was what you did. You needed to tell someone you did, no matter hours.

"I'm not used to office hours. Better get started, I guess." There was much to learn about how to make things the right way in Peter's world.

"Oh, Peter's not that good at keeping them himself. Suppose it was just a matter of time before you showed up here, considering you're working together."

Peter and he had never spoken about him coming to his home. The line he had just crossed might be unforgivable.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

"I know. Peter tells me pretty much everything. You've been part of my life too for quite some time. We got married just a few years before you turned up in our lives. Can I get you anything?" She indicated the coffee in her hand. Neal relaxed. She had not been scared of the criminal invading her home. Just curious.

"I'm fine, thank you."

She sat down on the sofa and gestured for him to join her. He did. They watched each other with mutual interest.

"What's Peter like when he's not a fed?" Neal dared to ask.

"Pretty much the same, I guess. He put me under surveillance before he dared to ask me out."

"You're joking?" He could not imagine what a Peter in love would be like, afraid to ask a woman for a date.

"No." Elisabeth's eyes sparkled. "He was just the man I was waiting for. So what's the breakthrough you talked about?"

Neal hauled the victory bond out of his inner pocket. He unfolded it on the table and placed a little enhancing mirror at the Goya image.

"See?"

She leaned forward.

"CH?"

Neal heard Peter storming down the stairs, and the second he turned up at the bottom of the staircase Neal realized where he was and how close he was sitting to his handler's wife.

"El, I've gotta go. Neal's outside his radius." Peter froze and stared at them, phone to his ear. "Caffrey is with me... Yeah" he snapped into the phone and hung up.

* * *

"Good morning, honey" Elisabeth sounded as this was an ordinary morning.

"Peter." Neal greeted him. As if he had been invited.

"You're on my couch," Peter pointed out.

"I came to talk to you. And, frankly, Peter, I have to say I'm surprised you have such an amazing wife." What was this? This was not as it was supposed to be.

"Yeah, I like her. Get off my couch." Neal did not move.

"We're just chatting" Elisabeth assured him.

"Chatting? How did you get here?"

"Cab." Peter's fury rose with that answer.

"You activated your tracker. You're in my house, on my couch, with my wife" he pointed out. Neal was not supposed to be there at all. He was not supposed to be part of his personal life. At all. Satchmo came down the stairs and walked up to their visitor.

"Oh, hey, Satchmo. Hi." Neal scratched their dog behind his ears and Satchmo sure did not mind. Like Neal was a regular visitor.

"Now you're petting my dog" Peter sighed.

"Did you really put Elizabeth under surveillance before you asked her out?" Neal beamed at him. "Peter. I underestimated you." Peter stared at Neal and then Elisabeth. He could not believe what this morning had turned out to.

"You told him." El gave him a smile and turned to Neal.

"He said he wanted to make sure that I wasn't seeing anybody else," El told the charmer in his sofa. "It's cute," she assured Peter.

"I think it's adorable" Neal confirmed. He glared at the two of them as if both of them invaded his home.

"I'm putting you back in prison." Neal had had his chance, but he had chosen not to listen. He brought out his phone and dialed. Neal did not protest. He sat as confidence manifested in Peter's living room sofa.

"I know who the Dutchman is."

"Enlighten me." Peter kept the phone ringing in his hand.

"Curtis Hagen," Neal replied. The name did not ring any bells for Peter. "He's an art restorer, one of the best in the world. But his own work never took off. He's particularly good at Goya restorations. That's what this is. The bond is him showing off." Peter hung up on the phone. He was not giving up on the call, but he wanted to hear what Neal had to say.

"Interesting theory. How do you prove it?"

"He signed it."

"I think we might've noticed a signature tucked in the corner."

"Show him," Elisabeth encouraged Neal, pointing at the bond on the sofa table. So even Elisabeth knew. Peter sat down on Neal's other side and took the bond and the enhancement mirror.

"Look at the pants on the Spanish peasant," Neal instructed. "What do you see?" Peter looked. There was a break in the pattern of the pants, but what was it supposed to be?

"I don't know. A battleship?"

"No, it's the initials C and H." It was. It really was. But it was just two letters. Yes someone signed it. But it did not prove who.

"I don't know. That's a stretch."

"This bond is a masterpiece. If I'd done something this good, I would've signed it. The forgeries you caught me on, I signed them." What? Peter stared at Neal.

"Where?"

"Look at the bank seal under a polarized light sometime." Peter had never thought about that. "Hagen is doing a church restoration on Third Street. We can stop by on our way in."

"Fine." Peter returned the little mirror to Neal. "Meet me in the car." It was as if Peter said something else. "I'm gonna say goodbye to my wife now."

"Oh, yeah" He should have understood that hint. He rose and so did Elisabeth. "Ahem. It was nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you after all these years." They shook hands and Neal hurried outside.


	15. Curtis Hagen

**Curtis Hagen**

They sat in the car. Peter was quiet and had a face that scared Neal. They had just been working together for a day. He had told himself over and over that he had to think twice and yet he had burst off right into Peter's home without permission.

"Peter, I'm sorry," he tried. "I shouldn't have come to your home like that."

"No, you shouldn't," Peter agreed. "You know why I picked that particular motel, Neal? Because my home would be outside your radius. The office is _within_ your radius, and my home is _outside_ of it. Damn it, Neal, you're not even supposed to know where I live! I knew that you probably knew, but…"

"You want me to act as I don't?" It was not how it was supposed to work. Your handler was the one you should be able to be yourself with. At least he had hoped he would.

"No. I want you to be honest with me," Peter assured him.

"I won't visit again, alright? I'm sorry I did. But it won't happen again, I promise." Neal searched for approval in Peter's face and saw him nod. Neal took a deep breath and exhaled. Peter would not send him back to prison. Not for this at least.

"Guess it was partly my fault, not being clear about it," Peter admitted.

"I know I'm impulsive, Peter. I'll do my best to work on that. But I'll stay away from your home, I promise."

Peter waved him off.

"Don't try to butter me up, kid."

They drove in silence.

Peter sighed.

"Alright, I'll arrange with the Marshals so that my house and you getting there will not set the alarm off. But you'll have to walk there, and only a specific route since it is outside your radius."

Neal stared at Peter. Had he just granted him to visit his home?

"Thanks, Peter."

"It's probably for the best. I want alarms when you run from me, not to me." Peter sent him a look. "Those birthday cards, you knew my address, yet you sent them to the office. Why?"

"I didn't want you to think they were some 'I-know-where-you-live'-threats."

"So you just sent them to wish me a happy birthday?"

"Yeah." It was true. But Neal also understood it was not standard practice among criminals to care about the one who chased them. He, on the other hand, was vain enough to enjoy being pursued by the best they got on White Collar.

"Because you thought I wouldn't catch you."

Neal noted it was not so much a question as a statement.

"No, I knew you probably would." If anyone should catch him, he had hoped it would be Peter. Anyone else, and Neal had done a sloppy job not keeping an eye on his enemies or leaving traces he should not have.

"So you were buttering me up?" Why was it so hard to get that he just wished Peter a happy birthday?

"Gosh no! What difference would that make? Honestly, Peter? If I wanted to butter someone up, I should've gone for the judge." The judge had not liked him at all. Sending him birthday cards would probably have made things even worse. "I held no grudge against you for chasing me, Peter. On the contrary. Why shouldn't I wish you a happy birthday?"

"Okay, okay. Thank you. I told you, it was a nice touch. I just…"

"Thought I had an angle? Well, I guess that I will always have that mistrust over my head, won't I? Can't blame you."

* * *

Neal and Peter walked into the church.

"This is it?"

Neal nodded.

"Yep." They were met by a priest.

"You can't come in. We're closed for restoration." He made an apologetic gesture.

"Oh, sorry, Father." Peter turned to leave but Neal was not about to give up so easily.

"Could we just- Could we just have a moment?" He gestured for Peter to wait. "Thank you. Father, come here a second." Neal managed to take the priest a few steps away. "Please, Father. My best friend is having a crisis of the soul. He's a married man, and he has the most devastatingly beautiful assistant at work, a very provocative woman. He's been tempted. More than tempted. I have details."

"That's very common with men his age. Unfortunately, very common."

"And I wanna confront him about this before he tears apart his life. Look, he has a lot of faults. I mean, don't get me started. He is a mess. But he's very spiritual." The priest turned toward Peter who, to Neal's dismay, did not match an image of spiritual at all but gave the priest a foolish grin. Neal got his focus again. "I know this is the place where my words will have the most effect."

"This is the City of Churches. We're closed," the priest repeated. "Surely there's another-"

"This is where he was married," Neal insisted. The man gave in.

"Five minutes."

"Thank you. Thank you, Father." Neal returned to Peter.

"Sorry about that. We got five," Neal told Peter and walked down the aisle.

"Did you just lie to a priest?" Peter wanted to know.

"Do you think Diana's attractive?"

"Sure."

"Then we're good."

* * *

Neal walked ahead to an altar that had been restored and was covered in plastic.

"Extraordinary" he expressed with awe. Peter nodded though he was not quite sure what made this shimmering altar special.

"Real nice." He was not a church-going man and saints were not his cup of tea. Neal stepped up all the way and lifted the plastic to reveal the whole artwork.

"So, if this Hagen guy is as good as you say, how come I've never heard of him?"

"You only know the guys who get caught," Neal pointed out and studied the work of the Holy Family closely. "You know the second-best criminals."

Peter smirked.

"What does that say about you?" Peter could not resist. Neal did not seem amused at all.

"It says there's an exception to every rule."

"I caught you twice."

Neal turned his head to reply to that but seemed to find no words. He worked his way across the painting. Peter felt the same fascination about Neal as he had when the kid had examined the victory bond. Peter threw an eye across the church to see if they caught any attention. They did not.

"Look. C and H," Neal called his attention.

"Where?"

"Right here. Right there." Neal held is enlargement mirror at the hem of one the dresses, decorated with a diamond pattern. "C.H."

"Maybe." Peter frowned. Could be. It could also be something they found because they looked for it.

"What do you mean, maybe?" Neal protested. "That's a C and an H." Neal pointed to the next diamond in pattern and showed him it did not match the one he pointed out. Peter saw what Neal saw, but he also knew it was not proof of anything and wanted to convey this to his convinced protege.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" A man in an artist's white working coat approached them. He glared at Neal. "Your face is familiar. Maybe I've seen it on the news, or perhaps on a most-wanted web page."

This was someone who had art as a living, Peter thought. It was only natural he had read about Caffrey and remembered him four years later. Neal turned on the charm, of course, and stretched out his hand.

"Neal Caffrey."

Peter wondered who Neal wanted to impress by stating his real name: him or Hagen. The man, Curtis Hagen, was not delighted. He gave Neal an eye that could freeze someone to death, Peter figured.

"Forgive me if I don't shake hands with an art thief." The voice was more than frosty. Neal kept smiling.

"I was never arrested for art theft."

"Not arrested. But, as I recall, you were known as quite the Renaissance criminal. So you can understand my concern at having you in my space." His eyes wandered to Peter. "And you are?"

"Just a friend." Peter thought it best to keep FBI out of the picture for the moment.

"Well, 'friend', this church is closed." Curtis Hagen made a gesture towards the door. They had what they came for anyway. No need to argue. They walked back up the aisle.

"Did you see it?" Neal wanted to know.

"Okay. You've got me curious," Peter admitted. "We'll check him out."

"Listen to the Spirit, son, not the flesh," the priest told him as they passed on their way out.

"I'll do that," Peter returned politely but hissed to Neal: "What's that about?"

* * *

They were back in the car. Neal was thrilled by their finding and Peter's interest.

"Neal, what did you say to the priest?" his handler wanted to know. Neal frowned.

"What does it matter? We got what we wanted."

"Neal, I'm an FBI-agent. With that comes a code of behavior. Somehow I got the impression you told lies about me. Am I right?"

Neal was not eager to reply. Peter gave him a look.

"Yeah, okay, I did. But I'm not a federal agent," he pointed out. Peter agreed but there was more to it than that.

"You're with me. You're no agent, but we will be seen as a team. Don't tell lies about an FBI-agent, unless authorized to do so, okay?"

"Okay." Neal frowned. "No one knew you were from the FBI."

"No. Not this time. But there are rules and policies about how to behave, what we can do and not do. It's to keep the trust of the general public. Lying about who you are and your reasons for being in a place is not the right way to do it. Got that?"

"Okay." A word he felt he repeated many times since he got out to confirm he had understood yet another rule. Did they never go undercover? Probably this had to do with authorization too.

"New way of thinking, right?" Peter smirked at him.

"Yeah." Neal beamed back. It sure was. "Can I lie about myself?"

"Not unless authorized." Well, he did not need to tell the whole truth. A thought crossed his mind.

"And when you introduce me, you will say...?" Neal wanted to know.

"That you're a convicted felon with a tracking anklet? No," Peter replied. "I'll say you're a consultant or a CI. But I'll not lie if questions arise." Neal did not feel too happy about it, but the anklet was there and questions would come. "You're a confident man, with a great deal of charm. I'm sure you can handle it," Peter assured him. "Besides, I'm the one who has to defend your presence and your actions." True. This could be so much more awkward to Peter than to him.

They drove in silence for a while.

"How do you do it?" Peter asked.

"Do what?"

"Come up with lies. Figure out what to say, just like that."

Neal shrugged.

"I don't know. I take a truth and put another angle to it. No big deal." Neal had done so for as long as he could remember. "Don't you go undercover?"

"Sure" Peter agreed. "But then I am prepared. I know who I'm supposed to be."

Neal glanced at Peter. He could not imagine what Peter would be like acting as someone else. Peter was so genuine it could not be a false bone in his body.

Could the man even tell a lie? He was trustworthy to anyone as Special Agent Peter Burke. No one trusted Neal on the other hand. Not even when he told the truth. That was something he learned early in life. It must be something about his look. Just as Peter appeared as honest as Jesus, he would always be compared to Judas.

"To be honest," Peter said after a while "I'm terrified each time I go undercover."

Did his handler envy his gift to be able to lie people straight to their faces without blinking? Ironic, since he wanted to be more like Peter with his inability to be anything but himself.


	16. Romantic gestures

**Romantic Gestures**

Peter called for Neal.

"Shut the door. Need your help with this." He pushed a pile of papers across the desk. Neal sat down in the visitor's chair.

"Is this information on Hagen?"

"No. Diana's on her way with that." Neal gave him a look and read the top sheet in the stack.

"This is your wife's Visa bill."

"Yeah. I got it all." Peter was proud of how fast he had pulled this all together. "Her eBay bids, video rentals, library books. Thank you, Patriot Act."

"So you're stalking your own wife." Neal sounded surprised. He even had a tone of rebuke in his voice.

"Wanna compare notes?" Peter gave him a look. Neal accepted his defeat.

"Touché. You figured out what she likes?"

"Yeah. It's all in the summary." Peter read the list: "Pottery-making. Nancy Drew mysteries. Scented candles. Oleander. Harrison Ford. Old jazz. Anything Italian except anchovies." Neal did not seem as impressed as Peter thought he would.

"Yeah, I don't think you're gonna find your answer tucked into a list of her eBay bids." Neal was right. He could not buy her an oleander candle for their anniversary.

"Help me out here, all right?" Peter felt desperate. He did not understand these things. "You're the romantic. I mean, what's the deal with the bottle?" Neal stared at him.

"It's an '82 Bordeaux." As if it explained it all.

"Yeah. Costs 800 bucks a pop."

"It does when it's full. I got it empty."

"Empty?" Was that the thing? Neal's pose relaxed.

"When Kate and I met, we had nothing. I got that bottle, and I used to fill it up with whatever cheap wine we could afford. And we'd sit in that crappy apartment and drink it over cold pizza and pretend we were living in the Côte d'Azur." Peter saw the young couple in his mind, dreaming, full of hopes, in love.

"How did that work out for you?"

"It didn't. Because that bottle was a promise of a better life. What Kate got was a guy locked away for half a decade." Neal gazed at Peter, but there was no blame in his eyes. Just sadness. Peter could not help feeling with the kid. Not that he regretted catching him, but he could understand the killed hopes. "Made Elizabeth any promises, Peter? Or you think what she really wants is oleander candles?"

* * *

Diana came into the room and Peter noted Neal rose to leave the seat for her. Neal was as any member of the team but if he did not behave as such, his teammates would not see him as one either. Diana did not sit. If she had seen what Peter saw or simply did not need a seat Peter did not know.

"Hey, Diana. What do you got?" Peter greeted her.

"Hagen is leaving the country. He booked a flight through a charter company in Barcelona for the 19th." What? No, no no! Not when they had come so far in such a short time.

"One week. Damn it, Neal. Seeing you must've tipped him off." Hagen had probably learned through his connections that Neal worked for the FBI and put it all together.

"He's going to Spain. That's something." The optimistic Neal. Well, they could need some optimism right now. This did not look good.

"Is there any connection to our books, the bonds, the murder?" Peter asked Diana.

"Hagen's impressive as hell. A lot of international holdings but he keeps himself out of the muck."

"Get every available agent on this. You know the good ones. I wanna know every single thing about this guy and I don't want any excuses. Anything gets in your way-"

"I forge your signature. Always do." Diana grinned all over her face.

"That's what I wanna hear." Diana left. Peter was on his feet. "If you're right about Hagen we have one week to connect him to the bond. If we lose him on the 19th..." He turned and faced Neal. By the look on Neal's face, he already knew. Peter said it anyway: "Neal, if we lose him, you're back in. I can't save you." Damn. He liked Neal. The kid was smart and focused. It could have worked out so well.

Neal swallowed. He had not blamed anyone for the situation. Peter had been quick to tell Neal it was his fault, but Neal had not objected. Peter knew he himself had a habit of putting the blame on others. Neal could deal with his mistakes. Good for him. Peter sighed. They had to solve this, and fast.

"What do we need to catch him?" Neal asked. He had not given up which was a good sign.

"If we shall be able to stop him from leaving the country we more or less need him to catch him in the act."

"Meaning Hagen and the printing of the bonds on the same spot?"

"Yeah." Not likely to happen.

* * *

Mozzie was waiting for him when he got back to June's. Neal sent his hat across the grand piano. Mozzie caught it.

"You're late" his friend blamed him as he put the hat on his bald head.

"Hey, give me a break. I'm a working man now."

"So?" Mozzie wanted to know if their discussion the previous night had been fruitful.

"We were right about Hagen," Neal told him. He wished he could do so with pride and a smile.

"Of course we were right."

"And I was stupid and impulsive, and he saw me," Neal admitted. "I have one week to link him to the bonds."

"One week, or what?"

"I go back."

"No, no, no."

"Yeah." Nothing more to say about it. "Did you find anything about Kate?"

"Aha. Apparently, if a tree falls in the forest, it does make a sound." He brought out a photo and slid it across to Neal. It was black-and-white and quite blurry. It was Kate. Neal's felt his heartbeat. She had someone's hand on her shoulder. Like he was leading her, dominating her.

"I may lose her again, Moz."

"Lose her? I just found her."

"So did he. So did he." Who was he? And what was he doing with Kate? His heart ached. He loved her so much. And not to know if she had left him because she wanted to or was forced to was unbearable.

"Don't do anything stupid now." Mozzie was studying his face. "It's not like she is dying or anything. No need for rash actions." Neal nodded. Mozzie was right. He had to stay calm, not running. If he helped Peter with the Dutchman, maybe Peter could help him in return.


	17. Printing press

**Printing press**

Peter liked to walk. It cleared the head. They had come no further in the Dutchman case though.

They had spoken some more about the FBI framework, dos and do nots. Neal seemed to listen and eager to learn. It felt promising. Peter wished Neal would not go back to prison so soon. He wanted this kid to work with him, for the FBI. They had made so much progress in just three days. It was, however, unlikely they would make that much progress to catch him within a week. Both better be prepared for it.

"Remember when you told me not to look for Kate?" Neal asked out of the blue after a few minutes of silent walk.

"Yeah." Of course, Kate would be mentioned sooner or later. Neal handed him a black and white photo with Kate from a strange angle. "You're putting me in a tough spot."

"These were taken at a San Diego ATM," Neal informed him. "She's going under the name Kate Purdue. You know what 'Purdue' means in French?" So Neal had searched for Kate. No surprise there. Well, he never said he was not.

"Yeah. It means 'lost'."

"Yeah. Makes you wonder, right? Is she lost to me, or without me?" The desperate romantic, the young man in love.

"Stop it," Peter prompted.

"I just need a couple of days," Neal persisted. "After this Dutchman thing is over. A couple of days to go to San Diego. You can come with me."

So many hopes and dreams. Where did he think he was? Had he forgotten his situation? And what had put him there in the first place?

"Stop it. How many times are you gonna screw up your life for this girl? I hate to break it to you, buddy, but she dumped you, with prejudice. No. Exactly what is your plan if you find her?"

Neal was silent. As Peter suspected he had not thought about it.

"I know there's more to our story," Neal said.

"She disappears in the dust?" Peter suggested.

"No. That's not an ending," Neal protested.

What? Did this man think he lived in a fairytale?

"Come on, kid. We've all been there. It gets easier."

"Not if she's the one," Neal insisted. "I brought this to you. Doesn't that count for something?" It was no rebuke in his voice. Only a desperate need to find the women he loved with all means possible.

"No," Peter replied, angry now. "We made a deal. I gave you something good here, and you're about to blow it."

Neal looked like he punched him in the gut. Then the vulnerability disappeared and the wide, confident grin appeared.

"You're right," Neal agreed. "You're right, Peter. I'm a smart guy. I should know when I've been dumped."

Yeah, sure you know, Peter thought, but you keep living on false hope, and I keep my eyes on you. He knew Neal had not given up. He had just decided to keep Peter out of the loop. Maybe not one of Peter's most brilliant moves, but a necessary one. Neal was under his supervision and he could not allow it to be a Sunday pick nick where they left town to chase a woman who did not want to be found, a ghost.

* * *

They were almost back at the office.

"You figured out your anniversary plans yet?" Neal asked.

"I'm getting close. Very close."

"So you got nothing," Neal concluded after reading between the lines.

"Nothing," Peter admitted. "But I'll find it."

Neal saw Mozzie among the smokers outside the office.

"Hey, I'm gonna go grab a smoke really quick."

Peter gave him a stare.

"Didn't know you smoked."

"It's a nasty prison habit. I've been trying to quit." Could you try to quit something you never started with? It was too close to a lie. He was working with Special Agent Peter Burke, the man whose trust he wanted. No lies.

"Jones, keep an eye on him," Peter called for his colleague, who acknowledged.

Neal sighed and smiled. He walked up to Mozzie.

"Bum one from you?"

"These things will kill you." Mozzie opened up a metal box.

"That's what I keep hearing, but I'm not dead yet."

"But these filters, they're good. Not for me, you understand. I tear them off."

It was not very subtle. Mozzie had one heck of a brain but acting was not his best talent.

"Hey, you need a light?" Jones was up by his side and lit Neal's cigarette. "You should try the patch," Jones told Mozzie.

"Two years and counting. I hate the tan lines," Mozzie replied. Jones took a few steps away with a sly smile, Neal noted. Well, Mozzie did not have to put himself under the noses of the FBI.

"You don't smoke," Neal mumbled. It was obvious Mozzie did not.

"What was I supposed to do, fire off a flare?"

If his friend was in such hurry to to tell him, he must have found some valuable information.

"So you tear off the filter?"

"Yeah. But I'm hardcore."

Neal was close to laughing when Mozzie's face turned green. None of them smoked. Neal stubbed out his cigarette, gave Mozzie a nod and returned inside with the rest of the cigarette in his pocket.

* * *

Up by his desk, he tore the filter off, unrolled the paper and found another strip of paper inside the first. He unrolled it and unfold it. An address. He checked it on the Internet and did some research.

Seconds later he bounced off his chair and hurried up to Peter's office. He flung the door open. Peter swung around in his chair with a happy grin all over his face.

"I found my bottle!" he exclaimed.

"I found Hagen," Neal returned.

"You first." Peter was focused on the job at once.

Neal placed Mozzie's strip of paper on the desk.

"This is a warehouse down by the docks. Hagen runs it through a shell corporation out of Guatemala."

"We didn't know about this. How did you?"

"I don't think you rely on rumor as much as I do."

"Let's go."

Down by the docks, Neal and Peter walked around, paused by the warehouse. There were men hovering nearby. A van was unloaded with boxes filled with ice meant for a fishing boat nearby.

"We're being watched," Neal mumbled.

"I know," Peter nodded in return. "It's the warehouse."

"Check out the security."

Peter scanned over his shoulder.

"So they got themselves some plain dressed guards to keep a low profile. So does half of the warehouses in this harbor. I need more than that."

Neal sighed.

"I need more," Peter insisted.

The men unloading the ice was done. Neal exchanged a glance with Peter who smiled in return. He got the plan without Neal explaining. They moved in behind the van and hurried along with it and passed the guards hidden behind the van. Along the side of the warehouse, the van gained speed and Neal and Peter hurried up along the wall to not be discovered.

Neal leaned against a closed gate and listened. Peter joined him.

"Do you hear that?" Neal wanted to know. "You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That kind of rhythmic- Shh-Shh. That's a press."

The FBI agent leaned his head against the metal door too.

"Damn it, Peter, that's a printing press. He's printing bonds now. You can hear it."

"How long till they're done?"

"A multicolored print job as complicated as the Goya, I mean, test proofs ink formulation, perfect registration. He'll be running it for days."

Peter picked up his phone.

"Diana. I need recording equipment down here immediately." He hung up and waved for Neal to move on.

They continued to walk to not get unwanted attention.

"We'll record the sound. It's not much," Peter admitted, "but you never know."

They strolled in silence for a while.

"Neal, may I ask you something?" Peter had that hint of a smile on his face.

"Can't stop you."

"When you escaped and I tried to figure out where you had gone and why, I read some of the letters you got."

Neal glanced at Peter. He had a pretty good idea about the question, but he had as a habit to never reveal his thoughts by filling out. It was safer to let the other say it.

"You got a lot of fan-letters," Peter pointed out. "Love letters actually."

"I did," Neal admitted and smiled.

"How did they know you, and where to send the letters?"

"I asked that too," Neal grinned. "A fellow inmate told me there are magazines and websites publishing mugshots with prison-addresses and convictions. It's public records. Little cost to publish and get many readers, obviously."

"You're kidding me?"

"No. I checked it up myself," Neal confirmed. "Guess not everyone is attracted to violence because I got more letters than most of my fellow inmates."

* * *

Peter listened to the sound in his headphones. After a while, he got excited and hopeful. The sound they had recorded at the warehouse matched the sound they had in their database. The computer had done its work matching them and Peter now listened to their sound and what the computer had found. No question about it.

"We're good!" he yelled and pulled off his headphones. He turned to Neal and Diana who joined him. "It's a Heidelberg Windmill Platting press. First manufactured in 1942."

Though progress, he felt the same frustration as he had felt when chasing Caffrey. So close and yet so far. In the case of Neal, they had known who he was for long but never seemed to appear on the same spot as him to be able to arrest him. In Hagen's case, all would be good and well and they would catch him soon enough, if they did not have a deadline when the guy was leaving the country.

* * *

"I'm on board. Hagen is our guy," Peter told Neal.

Neal was thrilled.

"But we still don't have enough for a warrant," his handler added.

"We know the bonds are there. Just open the door." That was what he would do. He would have walked right in there when they were down there, if had not been certain they had guns. Neal was in no favor of risking his life. Not when he knew an FBI-agent who knew how to handle it.

"Yeah? Mm-hm. Well, you should read this." Peter pushed a thick book towards him across his desk. "Warrant law. All I've got is sound coming out of a warehouse, and no way to link him to the bond. Why do you think it took us so long to catch you? It wasn't because we didn't know what you were doing."

"You _thought_ you know what I was doing."

"Neal, I'm not trying to frame you. I'm just explaining how things work on this side."

"I know." He trusted Peter. Neal was also certain he would not slip and tell him. He had managed eight hours of this pro's interrogation. He was pretty certain he would never tell a soul unless he wanted to.

"But even if we're good at guessing, it doesn't give us the right to walk into someone's property. We _guess_ Hagen prints victory bonds in that warehouse." He leaned towards the table, looking at Neal with firm eyes. "I've gotta talk to your friend."

Neal blinked.

"Friend?"

"Come on, Neal. The guy who gave you a cigarette."

"I have no-" Neal started but Peter interrupted him.

"What, do you think Jones is an idiot?" Peter had a sly smile on his face. Neal sighed. He could not mix Mozzie into this. "I don't care what he's done." Peter pointed out.

"He's done a lot of stuff," Neal assured him.

"I don't care," Peter insisted. "I don't care how you know each other. This will not blow back on him."

Neal was sure Peter meant it, but Peter had no idea who Mozzie was and he had a responsibility towards his friend too.

"Com'on, Neal. We're running out of time. Do you wanna go back in?"

"I can't go back," Neal said without thinking.

"Then you have to trust me. Do you?"

"Yeah," Neal confirmed. He did.

"Then convince your friend to trust me. I have to know how he connected Hagen to the warehouse."

Neal took a deep breath.

"Okay. Okay. I'll bring you to him. First thing tomorrow." He had no idea how to make Mozzie agree to a meeting, but if it was on neutral ground, it might work. But how likely was it that Mozzie had something Peter could use?

"Good."

"Can I borrow this?" Neal picked up the book about warrant law. "As you said, I should read it."

"Be my guest."

Before he reached the door Peter called out.

"Neal?"

"Yeah?"

"If this goes the wrong way, don't run. Please." He looked into his handler's face and saw concern and worry. "You'll blow every chance you could ever have in your life if you do."

Neal was overwhelmed with the care Peter showed him. This federal agent who had been chasing him and put him away in prison, did not want to see him back in there for good. He trusted Peter more than ever now.

"I know," was all he could reply. He could not promise he would not run.


	18. Fleeing suspect

**Fleeing suspect**

Warrant Law was the kind of read Neal enjoyed. Most people wanted novels and beautiful language. It had its charm. But legal texts were more of a challenge. It was correct, boring and written to make sure there were no loopholes. But there was always loopholes.

As he read he became more and more aware of the anklet and reminded who he was: a prison inmate. Now lying on an expensive coach in silk pajama pants, but still a felon with limited options where to go.

When he saw June's car keys on a table an idea formed in his head. He put the book about warrant law aside, got to his feet and grabbed the keys.

"June?" he called out. She appeared in the doorway. "Can I borrow your car?" June looked him up and down.

"I'm sure wherever you're going you ain't leaving in your pajamas."

Neal smiled. He was being impulsive again.

"I was more thinking of early tomorrow."

"Sure thing, darling."

"Thanks."

* * *

Peter woke up to his phone ringing.

"Yeah?" he answered and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. It was a US Marshal calling, telling him Neal Caffrey was outside his radius, moving fast. "Damn."

"What's going on?" El wanted to know.

"He ran." Peter was already out of bed. Damn, damn, damn, he repeated in his mind. He smacked his laptop open and logged in to see Neal's tracking data himself. He was outside his radius alright. By the speed, he was likely in a car. He got his clothes on and called Jones at the same time.

Down in his car, he boosted off with a vain hope to get to him first before the rest of the team and before the Marshal's had their team going.

"I don't care" he yelled at Jones on the phone. "Wake them up if you have to. I want every single agent—" His phone beeped. "Hold on I got another call." He switched to the new incoming call.

"He's moving to the marina district," the woman at US Marshal's tracking anklet unit told him.

"The Marina?" Why? Peter blinked and wondered if he was still groggy from sleeping. Manhattan was an island. There were just so many places you could go if you wanted to leave and the Marina was nobody's first choice. And he still had his anklet on… It was easy to cut. Why had Neal not cut it once he left his radius?

* * *

Neal drove the car down to the docks and stopped outside of Hagen's warehouse. He got out with a system camera in his hands and began to take photos. The men guarding the front of the warehouse reacted at once.

"What is this?"

"Hey!"

"Hi there." Neal smiled back to them and waved.

"Hey. Hey. What are you doing? You can't be here."

"Oh. I'm taking a photography class over at the Annex," Neal explained, innocent as an angel. The camera was ripped out of his hands. "And pictures of rusty sheet metal are a sure-fire A." Two men grabbed him and forced his hands up on his back.

"You must be doing some kind of surveillance." They searched him as amateurs. "He's no cop. Alright, take him in." They brought him inside the warehouse. It looked exactly as he figured it would. The printing press was running. There were the piles of books and a guy getting the empty sheets out. Neal observed everything.

"Jimmy, go get Hagen," the guy who took his camera called.

In the middle of the hall was an office built as a glass cube. They shoved him inside and closed the door.

"What exactly is going on here?" Hagen marched towards them. He saw Neal and knew at once who he was. Neal was quick to lock it from inside when the saw the keys were in the lock. The thugs were not the brightest men he ever met.

"Why'd you bring him inside?!"

"He was taking pictures."

"Open the door," one of the men with a gun commanded. "You're a dead man!"

Hagen glared at him through the glass. The man with the gun banged his weapon at the door.

"That sounds like inch-thick Lexan." Neal grinned. Hagen had built a stronghold, but now it was turned against his needs.

"Keys are on the way," Hagen warned him. Neal smirked, not worried at all.

"Nice." Neal admired the desk and flung himself down on the chair and put his feet on the table. He watched Hagen's annoyance.

"You shouldn't have signed the bonds. I'm no stranger to vanity myself so I understand the impulse."

"I'm gonna kill you," Hagen told him and Neal was convinced that he would if he got the chance. "I hope whatever they're giving you it's worth it."

"It is." The sound of approaching police sirens startled Hagen. Neal pulled up the leg of his pants and revealed the anklet and the alarm shining red. He smiled towards Hagen.

"You are a particular kind of bastard," Hagen declared.

* * *

Peter stepped out of his car with a grin from ear to ear, his gun drawn. Not for catching Neal, though. He had figured out what Neal was doing when he learned where the kid stopped.

"Gentlemen, we have a fugitive hiding in this building. Knock down those doors."

Peter followed the vanguard inside walking between printing press and boxes filled with forged victory bonds. Hagen and all his men stood with their hands raised.

"This is what the law calls an exigent circumstance. Any of you Harvard grads know what that is? Huh? No hands? Diana?"

"Exigent circumstance allows us to pursue a suspect onto private property without obtaining a warrant," she quoted by heart from the same book Neal had borrowed the night before. The kid has done his homework alright. He always did.

"And to seize any and all evidence that has been discovered in plain view regardless of the connection to the original crime." Peter picked up one of the freshly printed victory bonds and stopped in front Hagen who stood with his hands raised in surrender.

"Hey. Remember me? 'Friend'?" He could see Hagen did. Peter recognized the man beside him. "Oh, there's your lawyer."

He saw Neal inside the office and grinned. Was it possible not to love this guy? And he seemed to always find a solution for everything.

* * *

Neal lit himself a cigar. He unlocked and opened the door as Peter approached. His handler stood in the doorway grinning all over his face.

"You know, you're really bad at this escape thing."

Neal returned the grin.

"What can I say? Cigar?" Neal hopped up and sat on the desk.

"Cuban?"

"You should arrest me."

"Well, I'll let the cigar go, but you are a fleeing suspect." He tried to sound serious.

Peter's eyes fell on the open safe. Neal had picked it open.

"Is that the original Victory Bond?" There it was, on a shelf.

"Why, yes. Yes, it is."

Peter could not stop smiling. To Neal's delight, he hopped up and sat on the table beside him.

"You know, this makes me 3 and 0."

Neal glanced at Peter. If Peter counted this as catching him, Neal could be generous. It was Peter after all.

"Maybe I'm not trying hard enough."

They sat on the best seats watching Hagen being cuffed and taken away and his men with him. And when they were gone more FBI-agents filed in to secure the evidence. Neal mused. He still held the record and a man threatened to kill him had been put away. Best of all was Peter's admiration of what he had done.

Diana turned up in the doorway.

"May I cuff him, boss?"

Neal went cold. He had known it was a risk for this to happen, but why had not Peter done it right away? He was glad Hagen had not seen it though.

"Go ahead," Peter replied.

Neal slid off the desk and held out his hands. Diana laughed, and Peter too. He patted him on the shoulder.

"Relax, Neal. It's still 2 and 0."

"Peter. That was crossing the line." He smiled, to show that he shared the joke, but he gave Peter a stern look.

"Sorry, Neal. I mean it."

Neal beamed at him, but he was still not sure of what to believe.

"Good work, Caffrey," Diana soothed. Jones and Hughes joined them.

"Don't make a habit of the maneuver, Caffrey," Hughes ordered. "It only works once."

"I got that, sir."

They left and Peter and Neal were alone again.

"So jokes including cuffs is the line?" Peter asked.

Neal nodded.

"You should try them sometime. Ain't much fun in them."

"Got that. I'm glad you told me." Peter was serious. They left the little office and walked towards the doors. "Just for the record, it's part of the training as an FBI agent to try them on."

"On your back, too?"

Peter nodded.

"Every way of restraining someone in the line of duty."

Neal tried to see a Peter with his hands cuffed on his back without success. It was good to know he had experience though, even if it was under different circumstances.

They walked out to the car.

"Neal, I want to ask a favor of you."

"What?" And Peter told him. Neal smiled.

"I'll arrange that. Trust me, Peter." And it seemed as if Peter really did.


	19. Promises

**Promises**

Peter and Neal were making the final preparations for the Burke anniversary celebration. They were both relaxed and happy. And off duty. Peter did not really want to break the mood but had to.

"Neal..." he began.

"Yeah?"

"I've talked to Hughes and told him you've done a great job, and I want you to serve the rest of your time with me."

"Thanks, Peter."

Peter held up his hand. There was more.

"But it's not up to me to make the final call. Nor Hughes alone. And I don't know what decision they will make." Neal gazed at him, waiting. "Neal, can you promise me not to run?" He watched Neal taking a deep breath, looking away. Then the kid turned his head back and looked him straight in the eye.

"If I'll go back to prison tomorrow, can you promise me you'll take me there? No marshals, no belly chains, just you and your cuffs."

Peter looked at Neal. He was the scared kid again.

"Yeah," Peter replied. "I promise. Just you and me."

"Thank you. It means a lot to me. I promise you, Peter, I won't run." There was no trace of fake in Neal's eyes. Just honesty and vulnerability.

"Thank you." Oddly enough Peter did trust Neal to keep his promise.

"Now, go and get Elisabeth. I'll finish up here and I'll be gone from this place before you're back. June has prepared something for me, she said. Just in case things go bad tomorrow." Neal had his confident, charming face back on. The one that hid his fears. Well, Peter did not blame him.

* * *

"Careful," Peter instructed Elisabeth as he guided her blindfolded.

"Okay."

"All right, honey. Almost there," Peter assured her.

"Think I'm getting seasick," El told him but she was still smiling.

"Just a little further. Okay. All right." Peter looked around. Neal had done a great job finishing it all up. "All right, this is good. All right. Now, I want you to keep your eyes closed."

"I promise." Peter removed the blindfold and saw she kept her eyes closed.

"All right." He found the remote and turned on the Caribbean music as he placed himself in the middle of his surprise. "Okay. Open them." She did. And stared agape. The rooftop terrace had palm trees, a parasol, a sun-bed and even a surfing board. And a fire for warmth, because even if the place had a Caribbean look, it had the warmth of New York.

"Honey, you know how every year I'm always promising you that we're gonna go…?"

"To the Caribbean," she filled in.

"This is sort of what you wanted." Elisabeth giggled.

"Did you do all this?"

"Yeah." Not entirely true, but he did not think Neal would mind.

"Well, I think if I keep my eyes closed, I can actually imagine us being there." Peter laughed, took her hands and guided her to the sunbed. "Ooh. And it's getting warmer."

"It is. Come here." They sat down. Peter picked up a bottle of beer from an ice bucket. Neal had wanted champagne had not been able to resist the temptation to put the beers in a champagne cooler. He handed it to his wife.

"Screwtop" she mused. Peter took the other beer and they clicked the bottle together in a toast.

"Cheesy?" Peter asked.

"It's a little cheesy, but it's…" She sent him one of her warm smiles. "But it's sweet."

"Maybe this will help." Peter took out their tickets from his pocket. "Belize."

"What?" Elisabeth stared as she did not believe him.

"I found the time."

"Really?"

"Really," Peter assured her. "We have a week, and two plane tickets, and a seized villa in Sarteneja."

"In where?"

"Oh, this really incredible beach-front villa that the bureau seized from this narco trafficker. They're gonna use it as a safe-house. It's amazing—"

"Okay, it's- Enough with—" she placed her finger across his mouth. Right, no job. "Just tell me it's nice."

"It's nice."

"I love you."

"I love you." They kissed and the world was simple and without troubles. It was just them and their dreams. They leaned back together.

"Thank you," she whispered. Though they heard the sounds of New York it felt romantic. They were going away together. It was a long time ago. Too long. He hugged her. He loved her so much.

"Do you think we can pull that heater in a little closer?" El asked.

"It's cold," Peter agreed and they pulled it a bit closer. Then they laughed and leaned back again.

* * *

Neal watched the view over Manhattan from his rooftop terrace. He had been there since early morning, watching the sunrise. It might be his last sunrise for four years and he wanted to remember it.

June had assured him this place would always be waiting for him as long as she was alive. She was such a wonderful person. Though he had every intention to return to this place when he got out, four years was a long time. It would be even longer now. He had not got hold of Kate and he had had a taste of freedom. It had also been the best week of his life working with Peter Burke. No matter how this day ended he wanted to store that memory forever.

"Can't beat that view." Peter's voice behind him. Neal turned towards his handler.

"Did Elizabeth like it?"

"She loved it."

Neal gestured towards the table and the breakfast waiting.

"Coffee?"

"Yeah. Italian roast?"

Neal gave him a look. What else? It was June's coffee. She bought the best. They sat down.

"Going on vacation," Neal said with a grin. Could a man like Peter relax enough to enjoy it? He hoped so.

"Yeah. Yeah, we'll be back in a week."

"Still wearing that suit."

"Yeah, I love this suit."

Neal watched Peter drinking his coffee. This moment would not last forever. At least he would be properly dressed when he left prison next time. He had his favorite suit and hat ready. It would wait for him while he spent the next years in an orange jumpsuit.

Peter did not seem to bring up the subject.

"Did they make a decision?" Neal found his guts to ask. No need to tell about what. They both knew. Peter lingered on the answer. He dug in his coat pocket. Neal held his breath, preparing for the worst. Peter held out an official ID of the FBI. It took Neal a second to see it was his name and photo on it, and not Peter's.

"Figured if we didn't, you'd end up making one of these on your own." Peter handed it over to him and he felt light-hearted in a way he had not done for many years.

"I'm official."

"You're a consultant" Peter pointed out, not an agent. "And I own you for four years." Peter had a way of saying 'own you' that did not feel like a threat. "You okay with that?"

"Yeah." He was okay with it. Nobody had made him feel as safe as Peter. He knew Peter would treat him fair.

"You'll be here when I get back?" Peter asked. What kind of question was that?

"Where else am I gonna go?" And what was even better was that he did not want to go anywhere else.

* * *

Peter stood in the doorway to the terrace and watched Neal. The kid had not run. The view he was facing was as stunning as ever. Peter remembered how frustrated he had become a week ago when he saw what Neal had got for hardly any money.

Now he could not see Neal living anywhere else. He had a landlady that cared for him and not the rent. He had privacy. And a view which could inspire dreams. Hopefully the right dreams. Better _any_ dreams than despair.

Peter admitted to himself that Neal deserved all this. He genuinely liked Neal and it was a smart kid. A criminal, yes, absolutely, but it was not those skills that got him this place.

"Can't beat that view," he announced his presence. Neal turned.

"Did Elizabeth like it?"

"She loved it," Peter confirmed.

"Coffee?"

"Yeah. Italian roast?" Of course. They sat down.

"Going on vacation," Neal said with a wide grin. He sounded surprised. And rightly so. Peter was known for being at work.

"Yeah. Yeah, we'll be back in a week."

"Still wearing that suit."

"Yeah, I love this suit." And he did not care what Neal thought about it.

"Did they make a decision?"

Peter could hear the tension in Neal's voice. The kid sat there and did not know if Peter would cuff him and take him back to prison or not. Peter had not the heart to keep the suspension. He dug in his pocket and brought out a wallet-shaped item. He opened it and held it out to Neal.

"Figured if we didn't, you'd end up making one of these on your own."

The smile on Neal's face was a knockout. It was of both relief and of pride.

"I'm official."

"You're a consultant" Peter pointed out. It was not a badge and little privileges would follow that id. "And I own you for four years." That sounded horrible in Peter's ears. He did not want to 'own' Neal. "You okay with that?"

"Yeah." Neal nodded. Peter studied him. Why did Neal trust him? No matter intention, he could have a handler ruin everything, using him. Neal knew Peter would not. Why?

"You'll be here when I get back?" Peter asked.

"Where else am I gonna go?" One of Neal's ordinary answers, a question in return. It would be so much easier if Neal could just answer with a 'yes'. But then, on the other hand, Peter would not have felt the urge to ask.

It was time for him to leave to catch a plane. As he left he got a hint of cold feet. He figured he knew Neal well enough to be able to handle him and hopefully guide him to a life away from crime. But to what cost?

He was not a fed chasing a criminal any longer, he was a fed with a colleague that could only be trusted to a certain level. He would be a pain in the ass for a guy he liked and who seemed to want nothing but his admiration and trust. For four years. Hughes was right. Four years was a too long time.

Still, if it worked out, Neal could be trusted and released early. But if it did not, what would it cost them both?

 **The end**


End file.
